


Pandora's Last

by felicia_angel



Series: Tear You Apart [5]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Branding, CBT, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Confused!Chris, Disassociation, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Erotic Electrostimulation, Fever, Fucking Machines, Hand Jobs, Ice Torture, Large dildos, M/M, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Sounding, Torture, Violet Wand, candle wax, more tags to be added later, possessive!Wesker, sensory play, sick!chris, that rape tag is there for a reason, worried!Wesker, y'all stopped needing Jesus and just went straight to them old gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicia_angel/pseuds/felicia_angel
Summary: "That is why Hope is the last thing that dies in man: even though deceitful from time to time, it is the only consolation humans have for all the troubles Pandora let loose on the world."
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Series: Tear You Apart [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/947601
Comments: 78
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

_ January 2, 2011 _

Despite the B.S.A.A. finding its way to the town as expected, Wesker is annoyed to see that things are not progressing as quickly he would like. Instead of going directly to the rigged facility, the B.S.A.A. people are lingering at the small Serbian town. Clearly, retrieving Chris is not their top priority. It is unsurprising that this group is no more competent than the ones from before. 

He is not sure when exactly the B.S.A.A. was tipped off, given the ineptitude of the mercenaries in finding Jake and Sherry. Not to mention that the mercenaries also let the infected B.S.A.A. underling and two doses of the experimental C-virus antidote disappear from right under their noses during that time too.

The implications are clear. There is no way the dog could have escaped independently, which means that at least one of the mercenaries was involved, though this individual’s motivation and loyalties are unknown. A number of mercenaries are still unaccounted for, presumably killed by Chris and the other escapees. However, one or more of them could have taken advantage of the situation to disappear and carry out their machinations undetected. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Nevertheless, despite the mercenaries’ multiple failures, he finds himself intrigued by the scientific implications of the infected underling’s escape. If the underling was able to successfully participate in an escape, it would mean that the virus can be used to manufacture more controllable, directable B.O.W.s. Or perhaps one of the stolen antidotes was used on the underling and led to enough recovery of mental faculties to allow for escape. Either way, it is fascinating, and something he wished he had the dog around for in order to conduct further testing. If anything, it would make Chris think twice about escaping and remind him of what happens when he backslides...

He banishes the idea. Having other people around has only ever driven Chris to distraction and betrayal - first with those two B.S.A.A. agents he used the P30 devices on, then Jill, and now the two underlings he left alive and allowed Chris to plot with. No, it is better if Chris is alone with him, unable to think about anyone or anything else until the punishment is complete. Then he can bring Chris out again, but on a short leash until Chris can be trusted to remain obedient. 

He looks at the sensory deprivation chamber that Chris is being held in, which has been deposited almost haphazardly in a corner of his lab. He turns down the opacity of the glass, revealing Chris suspended in the clear, oxygenated fluid within. Chris is trying to struggle and scream in vain, despite the blindfold, earphones, and restraints. He is annoyed to see that Chris was not put inside according to his exact specifications. The background noise he selected is not being played through the earphones. Chris’s face is chafed by a cloth gag that looks barely enough to keep him silent. A few pieces of the restraints have not been applied, allowing Chris to move more than intended. As usual, if he wants a decent job done, he has to do it himself. Bad enough the mercenaries are already starting to get ideas. He made that mistake early on, when he gave Chris to the ones in the South Africa base to play with, though this was before their shared Protoype infection took effect and made him far more possessive of his point man. Now, these mercenaries have made no secret of their desire to kill Chris. They will not be permitted free reign. Given how they dared to ask about getting to kill Chris after he is “done,” they will be dealt with. 

He gets Chris out of the chamber, not wanting to leave him somewhere so shoddily put together for any longer. It is a tricky process due to Chris’s constant thrashing. The state of Chris’s injuries is also concerning. Chris was last punished two days ago, but the injuries have healed minimally and quite a few of the wounds on the shoulders and back have become infected. There are also more bruises on Chris, ones that he is not responsible for. The most visible ones are on the abdomen, an area he had purposely avoided. At least one bruise is obviously in the shape of a boot print, at least one size smaller than his own. 

He will definitely be having more than a simple talk with these mercenaries. He makes a mental note of the men who were assigned to prepare Chris for transport, intending to deal with them after the B.S.A.A. team is neutralized. Unluckily for them, all four of them are still alive. 

As Chris appears to be in no condition for the punishment to continue, he moves Chris to a medical bed. With much difficulty, he maneuvers Chris to lay face down on the bed and applies the four-point restraints. Turning on the monitors for the vital signs, he tries to rein in his anger at the mercenaries and instead focus on Chris’s needs. As soon as the earphones and gag are removed, Chris lets out a hoarse cry and babbles something. 

“...no...I’m...I’m not!”

Perhaps it is a bad memory? He wouldn’t be surprised, but he is displeased by the implications. He unties the blindfold, revealing red eyes that are frantic and unfocused. If Chris’s mind is present at the moment, it is not enough to mount any kind of intentional resistance. Still, he does not want to see his point man entrapped by bad memories. Are these memories of Clay, the low-life that he disposed of? Or of something that happened while Chris was in B.S.A.A. custody? He has yet to demand information from Chris about what happened after he absconded with Jill back to the B.S.A.A.. He debates asking about it when Chris is more coherent, but considering that it took P30 and interrogating Clay himself to learn the full extent of Clay’s abuse, learning about the B.S.A.A.’s abuses will likely take just as much effort, if not more. He will have to defer investigations to a later time. As much as he wants to know, using the P30 now could result in worse nightmares or dissociation. That wouldn’t do, especially since he wants to finish the rest of the punishment sooner rather than later.

Chris cries out and struggles in response to any touch, not unlike the last time he was newly taken out of the sensory deprivation chamber. As much as he wants to spend more time touching his Chris, the infected wounds are worrying. Why is Chris not healing as quickly as before? He draws several blood samples to be analyzed, then starts IV antibiotics and begins to clean the wounds. The surrounding skin is inflamed and feverish to the touch. Chris’s vital signs are less than ideal, likely attributable to the wound infection.

“Stop! No! No!” Chris screams and struggles harder as the wounds are cleaned. He runs a hand through Chris’s hair in a comforting gesture, frowning when Chris tries to shake his head free and becomes more agitated. He strokes Chris’s hair for a while longer, but eventually stops when the agitation worsens. It is tempting to use a sedative, but he wants to ensure that Chris will be awake when the B.S.A.A. team reaches the abandoned facility. There must be some other way to calm Chris until this delirium resolves. 

The B.S.A.A. team is still progressing at a snail’s pace. No doubt Jill is here as well, to try to take Chris from him. Too bad she is leading her team right to the mansion and its trap.

Chris continues to babble deliriously as he applies a light layer of gauze over the wounds. He wishes he could stop whatever is tormenting Chris. In addition to the infection, another reason for the prolonged confusion and agitation must be the excessive sensory deprivation from not having any background sounds on. When he is done here, he needs to review the recordings of Chris’s time in the sensory deprivation chamber. There is much to do already, but if it helps solve this mystery, then it is worth the time. 

The results from the blood work confirm that Chris is clearly ill, something that has never happened before while Chris is in his care. Unless the B.S.A.A. did something to tamper with the effects of Chris’s Prototype virus? Though it is unlikely to be just that. Chris was already weakened at the time of the escape, and the rightful punishment that came after he was caught had admittedly been severe. Perhaps it was too much, though Chris deserved every second of it. As much as he wants to resume the punishment, he has to be more careful until the infection heals, or temporarily use methods that will not exacerbate the infection and wounds. The upcoming demise of the B.S.A.A. agents can potentially be used as part of the punishment, depending on whether Chris will be coherent enough when it happens. 

“No...wrong! No...no!” Chris is still pulling at the restraints in agitation and remains trapped in his fever dream. It almost sounds like Chris is arguing about something. Chris is willful and obstinate about many things -- pleasure, obedience, allowing himself to be cared for, the connection they now have through their shared Prototype virus -- but this seems different, more desperate.

For some reason, it reminds him of a long time ago, when he and a number of other children were under the care of Spencer’s cronies. There was a boy who was singled out for abuse by a particularly vicious caretaker. The woman never had anything good to say and lost her temper over the smallest things. Wesker had argued back once, but immediately relented upon realizing that it only fanned the flames of her vitriol and made himself a target. The unfortunate boy was unable to escape her notice, and became increasingly withdrawn and emaciated until he disappeared altogether one day. The caretaker followed not long after. As a child, he was never told what happened to them, but it is quite obvious now that the incompetent caretaker had likely contributed to the boy’s death and was disposed of by Spencer as a result. 

Memories of the sad-eyed boy linger in his mind -- the boy’s fearful glance when he was reprimanded for nonexistent misdeeds, his weak trembling and growling stomach when he was sent to his room without dinner…

“No more...no…”

At the sound of Chris’s incoherent begging, his hands twitch in want to hold and comfort his point man, to soothe away the fearful and dangerous delirium. Chris needs to be nursed back to health. The delirium should resolve afterwards. His anger flares up again at the mercenaries responsible for Chris’s current suffering. It is all due to their carelessness and misplaced desire for revenge. These mercenaries are already bought and paid for. He will do what he wants with them.

One of the motion sensors on the mountain path to the abandoned facility picks up a signal. The B.S.A.A. team has finally left the town, it seems. His rage lifts somewhat at the promise of Jill’s impending death. The desire to comfort Chris once again becomes irresistible. He gently strokes Chris’s hair and massages the back of Chris’s neck, above the metal collar. Unlike before, Chris does not become more agitated and even starts to relax. Pleased, he continues the motions, though the flushed, sweaty skin reminds him that his precious point man is still ill and delirious. Despite his worries, being able to calm Chris is doing wonders for his mood. The struggles and incoherent protests get quieter as Chris is lulled to sleep, finally permitted some relief. 

He stays close by until he is sure that Chris is sound asleep. Chris can rest for the next hour or two, until the B.S.A.A. team reaches the abandoned facility. The timing is likely too ambitious, but he wants Chris to see the B.S.A.A. fail spectacularly in its feeble rescue attempt. Chris is his. Everyone will learn by the time this is over.

=

He sees Piers transform again, his body tearing itself apart. Piers is trying to reach him, anger and betrayal clear on his ruined face. Then the dark mass of Uroboros entangles Piers as Wesker cackles in the background. He tries to go to Piers, but his body won’t move an inch. B.O.W.s converge on him and gouge their claws into him until his body is in tatters. When his throat is too hoarse to scream anymore, a B.O.W. raises a claw to his throat to deliver the finishing blow.

He jerks awake to the sound of rapid beeping near him. It sounds like a heart rate monitor. He can’t move his arms and legs. He shivers uncontrollably from the cold, before it starts to get too hot. Everything hurts, especially his shoulders and back. His head is spinning and his vision keeps going in and out of focus, making it impossible to figure out where he is. He feels sick and nauseated.

_ “You ain’t worth the wear to my belt for being so stupid.” _

He hears the angry voice again. It sounds like his father’s voice, but it grows distant and incomprehensible. He senses Wesker nearby, which makes him struggle in fear of being hurt more. Wesker is pain and he wants to escape, but Wesker is his only option. What else does he have besides his family’s disdain and rejection? At least Wesker may want to keep him.

He sees screens showing the mansion where only Jill, Barry, Rebecca managed to escape from alive…  **Double-crosser** .  **Marini was right, wasn’t he?** But didn’t they blow up that mansion…? Why is it still here... 

He hears a different voice that sounds gentle and caring, but can’t make out what it is saying. A soothing, warm touch moves over his head, making him relax instinctively. He wants to rest, wants to be touched more, even though he only deserves to suffer for being so weak and getting so many people killed. The warm touch continues. Why?

The voice speaks again. “You’re my point man. What’s wrong, Chris?”

Point man? No, no, that can’t be something he can do, no, why say that? That’s an important job, he’s not important. He tries to squirm away but can’t. The touches are still running along his scalp and down his shoulders, soothing away his pain and draining the tension from his muscles. How can this be? He can still sense Wesker here, which means there should be pain and cold like he deserves. Why is someone making him feel good? He has done nothing to earn it. He tosses and turns, whimpering.

“Shh, calm down.” 

Wait, if Wesker is the only one here, who is comforting him then? 

“Still feverish.” The voice sounds like Wesker, but it can’t be. Why would Wesker be worried when Wesker hates him and is always punishing him? Not that he doesn’t have it coming for giving into the man’s sick games.

His vision clears for a moment, allowing him to see Wesker’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, except they’re not blue, but red and reptilian. He trembles in terror, wanting to beg for mercy, but he's past that now. Nothing he says or does ever helps. Why even bother?

“Tell me what is wrong. I can't help if you don't. You're ill.” 

_ “Sick freak. How dare you even try to contact us when you still unrepentant? _

“I want to help you recuperate.”

It is so tempting to just ignore everything and melt into the touches, the only good thing he’s gotten in a while. He feels so tired and confused… He remembers such a strange jumble of things, and his Captain...no, Wesker, just Wesker, not...

“You seem only slightly more lucid than before, but nowhere near aware,” Wesker notes in an almost worried tone that Chris recalls hearing somewhere...the mansion? Spain? It was a cliffside, and Jill was there… A hand grips his chin and a bright light is shone into his eyes without warning, making him more dizzy and nauseated. Despite that, the warmth from the hand gradually takes away some of that discomfort. The hand starts stroking his hair again. It takes a long time before he remembers that he should try to shake it off, but he doesn’t have the strength.

“My plans were slightly delayed, but they are back on schedule now.” 

He opens his eyes, realizing that he almost fell asleep. Wesker looks pleased about something. Why? He didn’t do anything to deserve praise. Something happened… So much did... The mercenaries beat him… Did they do more? He remembers them trying… He upset Wesker by running away, but the others had to leave. If it's just him, he's expendable. Others can take his place. Piers can-- **Piers is a mindless monster now, remember? It would have been better if he died. At least he would still be human and be given a proper burial, but now the B.S.A.A. will put him down like a rabid dog. Like they should have done to you.**

He launches himself at Wesker, howling in anger and despair, only to be held in place by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Wesker grabs him, causing pain to flare up his shoulder and down his spine, almost cold in it's brutality. He struggles harder, trying to pull at the IVs and wires on him. The sight of Wesker’s angry face makes him cower briefly before he continues to scrabble at anything within reach. Wesker holds him still by his arms, causing more bursts of pain. He collapses back onto the bed, which makes his back hurt unbearably. Shivering, he keeps fighting against the restraints so he can get free and do something. Wesker transformed Piers, made Piers a monster. Finn is dead. Who knows where Jake or Sherry are, or if they’re safe. Even if they are found by the B.S.A.A., they won’t be safe, given what he'd heard about Leon Kennedy’s fate. Both of them can easily end up the same way, and he won’t be able to save them. All he can do is make things worse, like always, and they will end up dead. He will never be able to face Claire again if he killed Sherry.

“Though you’re not at your full health, Chris, don’t think that will stop me from punishing you as necessary,” Wesker snarls at him, sapping the last of his fight. He is exhausted and in pain, as if his body has been punished for days. Once he goes limp, Wesker lets go of him. That must be why the pain is gone for now… Of course, Wesker can touch him again whenever he wants. He trembles at the thought of more pain, but the alternative would mean that he is not useful.  **As if your sloppy hole is worth fucking** . The possibility of becoming useless to Wesker terrifies him, even if it means that he would not be punished or used again. There is nowhere else for him to go if Wesker throws him away... He might as well die now and save everyone the trouble of having to kill him.

He watches Wesker walk over to the large monitors. There is a blurry figure on the screen. It looks like Jill... 

“Two minutes to go before the explosives detonate. Jill won’t bother us again after this.”

He feels his stomach plummet in dread. Why is Jill still at the mansion? He thought they all left together before he set the self destruct! 

“No...no, please, don’t! Don’t do this. I’ll be good, I won’t run again!” he begs, blurting out anything that he can think of that Wesker may want in exchange for stopping the self destruct. Wesker looks unmoved, his pleas obviously not working. He can’t think of how else to stop this, shaking in fear as he watches the timer move closer and closer to...to…

“Don’t lie, Chris. Besides, I'm tired of being hounded by your little organization. It's time to deal with the nuisance and show them that you belong to me and me alone.”

He struggles weakly as his body protests the movements. It’s too hot suddenly, but he shivers like it’s freezing. No, he can’t let this happen. He can’t. Jill and Alpha team, everyone who trusted him, he can’t let them die. He can’t run away, not like before. **Had to get Claire involved, did you? She nearly** ** _died_** **because of you. Jill was infected and hurt, the whole city nuked** _._ No, that was Umbrella’s fault, not his! **You did nothing to stop them. You didn’t stay when everyone else did.** No...no...not this time...he has to convince Wesker, he has to save them. He has to do whatever it takes. 

“I-I’m not lying I swear!” Less than two minutes…  **You won’t succeed.** “Please turn it off, please! I won’t! I won’t run!” Wesker approaches. Making himself small in preparation for another painful touch or some other punishment, he continues to beg. He has to stop it, no matter what, or else the rest of S.T.A.R.S. will die because of him. “I won’t, I’ll stay, don’t hurt them! Please! Please! I’ll be good!”

“You’ve promised to be good several times in the past,” Wesker reminds him, “though you’ve never been able to follow through. Only Jill and her team will die. Barry and the others are not there. You are no doubt still confused.”

“No, not her! Please, please don’t, not her! I’ll be good, I-I’ll…” His head is pounding, it’s too hot, he’s shaking too badly. The gentle touch returns to his head. It feels good... He wants more, but no, Wesker is trying to kill them...he needs...he can’t…

Hyperventilating, he tries to look at the screens to make sure no one else is there. It turns out Wesker IS lying! Wesker lied again. Jill, Barry, Rebecca, Richard - they are all at the mansion! He can see them with his own eyes! He has to convince Wesker to stop the self destruct, save them before the place blows up. He’ll be good! He can be so good. He’s sorry! He’ll be better!  __

“Breathe, Chris. Shhh. You need to breathe.” 

Despite all his pleading, Wesker is not stopping the countdown. Everyone is going to die... He begs, screams, makes promises, anything to change Wesker’s mind.  **Like you’ve ever saved anyone. Like your sister didn’t put her life on the line for you. What did that get her? Who didn’t make it there in time to save her from a broken heart?**

The screens suddenly change to static. Wesker doesn’t even bother to look back at them. 

**See? You failed, and now everyone in S.T.A.R.S. is dead because of you. Not that it matters. You can’t even keep Wesker’s attention.** The voices are loud, overwhelming. He feels lightheaded and can’t catch his breath, like he is about to black out.  **Won’t be long before you die, like you should have a long time ago when you first became a disgrace to everyone you care about.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris begins to recover, and tries to discover what happened.

Sighing, Wesker runs a hand through Chris’s hair. After viewing the explosion of the abandoned facility that killed Jill and her B.S.A.A. team, Chris was inconsolable, his mental status quickly declining until he eventually became unresponsive. Chris has been unconscious ever since then.

The fever has improved with IV antibiotics, but Chris is still not healing as quickly as before. Even though the viral load in Chris’s blood samples is sufficiently high, he is sorely tempted to give Chris another “dose” of Prototype virus to see if it will increase the speed of healing. Unfortunately, Chris is too sick and delirious for it to be enjoyable for either of them. It would be best to wait until Chris is fully recovered and has received his full punishment for the recent scheming and outright rebellion. In the interim, he plans to dispose of the mercenaries who harmed Chris. Their deaths are necessary to show the other mercenaries the consequences of not following his commands to the letter.

He wonders how much Chris will remember after the delirium resolves. When Chris was watching the video feeds, he had been feverishly babbling about his former S.T.A.R.S. compatriots, both dead and alive. In his confused and addled state, he obviously thought he saw his old S.T.A.R.S. teammates die in the explosion. It would be highly beneficial If Chris continues to believe his former teammates to be dead. Having these distractions removed would only serve his purposes and potentially put an end to Chris’s rebellious behaviors. However, once the delirium resolves, Chris will likely regain his mental faculties and realize that Jill is the only one dead. A pity, but something he will work with for now. 

He looks at the test results, trying to pinpoint any abnormalities. Based on all the parameters, from viral load to antigen levels, Chris is fully infected with the virus, but it is as if the virus is not healing Chris on purpose… As it stands, Chris has limited ability to intentionally misbehave due to being severely weakened and confused, which is for the best. Until he figures out what is inhibiting the regenerative effects of the virus, he would have to be careful with how he disciplines his point man.

In rare cases, the host’s mental state seems to influence the physical effects of Progenitor virus and its derivatives. Lisa Trevor’s desire to find her mother kept her alive longer than any other test subject. Sergei’s zeal and growing insanity turned him into a hideously deformed but weak creature that was pitifully easy to defeat. Perhaps this is related to what is happening to Chris. Is Chris’s mental state affecting the virus and subsequently his healing?

Wesker once again reviews the files on the failed Progenitor AO project for clues. The drug designed by the project allowed him to transmit his Prototype virus to Chris with no apparent adverse effects to either of them, but perhaps there is a long term side effect that he missed? The files contain extensive information on subjects who were successfully infected with Prototype virus via parenteral transmission after receiving the drug. The data ranges from lab results, psychological batteries, and dissection findings. However, he finds nothing resembling what Chris is undergoing now. Nothing conclusive at least, and the shoddy paperwork for the whole thing is annoying to the point of distraction.

If Alex were not obviously Spencer’s crony, he would consider a collaboration between them to further study the Prototype virus’s effects on Chris. As things stand now, he can’t possibly trust her with his point man.

Chris stirs fitfully, though does not have the energy to wake. Quietly, he moves over to check the wound dressings, which are satisfactory. He can’t resist pushing up the metal collar to admire the claiming wounds on either side of Chris’s neck. Both wounds still look raw and should scar deeply in the future. Chris squirms in his sleep, as if irritated by something. 

He strokes a hand down the well-defined back muscles. Chris’s strength is hard to gauge and appears to fluctuate. Prior to becoming infected, Chris was at the pinnacle of human strength, having been honed into a weapon by the B.S.A.A. for the purposes of taking down B.O.W.s and Wesker himself. After infection with the Prototype virus, Chris demonstrated multiple physical feats that were far beyond the capabilities of a normal human. In some situations, such as the most recent escape attempt, Chris even held his own against Wesker for a period of time. Being stronger, faster, and much more experienced than Chris, he remains the decisive victor in their past confrontations, but he feels an inkling of unease. Chris has grown more powerful than expected, taking into consideration the fact that Chris was not in optimal shape during their last few fights. During the last escape attempt, Chris fought against him like a man possessed in an attempt to keep the two B.S.A.A. underlings safe. Despite being injured, Chris was ferocious to the point where he believed for a moment that Chris might actually succeed in buying enough time for the other escapees. However, after he recaptured Chris and began to apply the well-deserved punishments, Chris became so weak that he was easily subdued and abused by the mercenaries. 

Wesker works on various projects while monitoring Chris, occasionally adjusting the IV fluids and cleaning sweat off Chris’s body. Some healing has taken place, though not as much as he wants. A few hours later, Chris starts to move restlessly in the medical bed and wakes up thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. His eyes are feverish and wide with terror. 

“My lovely Chris,” he soothes as Chris once more sobs and babbles, promising to be good and begging for “her” to not be hurt. At this point, it is unclear if Chris even knows who he is pleading with, or if he is trapped in another memory. He grows impatient about this persistent problem. Chris needs to be clear-headed and recovered enough so that they can proceed with the rest of his plans. 

Chris struggles feebly against the padded cuffs, too exhausted to be able to keep this up for much longer. He keeps up the gentle touches, wanting Chris to go back to sleep and recover. He will use a sedative if need be.

“You need to rest, my dear. You’re not well.” 

Chris’s frantic eyes flicker in his direction and manage to focus on him. The younger man trembles in what appears to be relief and goes limp under his hands, calming much more quickly than before. 

“Yes Captain...” Chris whispers. The wine-colored eyes begin to drift shut. 

Despite being slightly taken aback by those words, he is delighted by this very promising development and what it means for the future. He gives Chris, now fast asleep, a few more strokes before going back to his other work. Something tells him that the younger man will soon be far more lucid and physically recovered. All the more reason to make sure everything is set up before Chris wakes, so that they can finish up the punishment and put it all behind them.

=

Chris lets out a content sigh as he wakes. Blinking lazily, he relaxes into the warm bed. The medical equipment next to him beeps softly in time with his heartbeat. He is alone in an unfamiliar room that looks like a lab from what he can see, but he feels safe because his Captain was here earlier. The last thing he remembers is a blur of pain, fear, and cold... He must have been ill and his Captain was taking care of him? 

A group of computer monitors catches his eye, making him feel uneasy. A strange sense of deja vu washes over him, like he has forgotten something…  **You’re always forgetting the simplest of things. Why you think you can do anything is a mystery** . He tries hard to remember despite his thoughts coming to him as slowly as molasses, until--

_ Jill was in the mansion. The mansion blew up. _

He jolts and tries to get up, but is stopped by cuffs on his wrists and ankles that keep him trapped. Panicked, he pulls at the cuffs before realizing that he shouldn’t break them. His Captain must want them to stay on. The cuffs are padded and obviously not meant to hurt him, so maybe he isn’t being punished, but he needs to find Jill. He swallows, unable to decide what to do next. 

**You swore to be good. You promised and begged your** **_Captain_ ** **that you’d do whatever he says. Are you going to run off again? Are you just a liar?**

Shivering in fear, he hesitates. In the end, his worry for Jill overrides his fear of disobeying his Captain. He needs to see with his own eyes what happened to her. If he’s wrong… He tugs hard on one of the cuffs to free one arm, then undoes the remaining cuffs. There are two IVs in his arms, which he removes. His whole body is sore and his back protests as he gets up, but he ignores it. 

**You failed her so badly. You failed everyone. What will your** **_Captain_ ** **think?**

“He’ll understand. I can explain. He’ll understand...”

**Will he?**

“Yes,” he argues weakly, looking for something to wear in case it is cold outside. He’ll take it off when he gets back, or the Captain will. He’s not worth his Captain’s time and worry if he gets himself sick.

**You definitely aren’t. Finally you realize how worthless you are.**

“I have to help...” 

He finds a set of clothes, a cream-colored shirt and a pair of sweatpants. They look almost like hospital scrubs, which remind him of...when he was on that ship in Africa. He thought Jill was dead then too. He turned out to be wrong, so she has to be alive this time, right? Jill and the Captain survived so many difficult situations, whereas he has only managed to get himself into trouble at every turn. He just wants to see Jill to make sure that she is safe, then he’ll come back and accept whatever punishment the Captain decides.

Something catches on the shirt when he is putting it on. He reaches up and finds a metal collar around his neck. The ring of metal feels completely smooth. There is no way to remove the collar, no matter how many times he runs his fingers around it. He vaguely remembers Wesker welding the collar on during a beating, and before that… He stops trying to remember.

He leaves through the unlocked door. The second he steps out of the lab, he freezes at the sight of several mercenaries who are heading towards him. One of them is part of the group that hurt him and put him in the box! The mercenaries gesture at him wildly and yell in Russian, obviously upset about something.  **_Who cares? They’re keeping me from Jill. They’re assholes who hurt me, enough to put me in a sickbed. How dare they!_ **

**_I was useless to Jill, to the Captain, because of them!_ **

The next thing he knows, he is disoriented and breathing shallowly. The mercenaries are scattered on the floor around him, probably dead.  **_They deserved it._ ** Sifting through the bodies, he takes boots and clothes that are about his size, then moves on without a care for what will happen next. If he runs into his Captain, he can explain himself.

It takes less time than expected to find the exit. When he gets out of the building, he is faced with a frozen wasteland that looks completely unfamiliar. He looks around, lost on what to do. He must be far from where Jill is, meaning he would need to get a helicopter and...somehow find where she is.

Despair permeates him along with the cold, chilling him to the bone. Now that he is outside, he is able to think more clearly. His memories still feel jumbled, but he remembers that Sherry and Jake managed to escape. Maybe they have contacted outside help already. If they had been recaptured, Wesker wouldn’t have bothered to move to another base.

**Doesn’t change what you let happen to Finn and Piers. More dead because of you.**

“I know, but I can still help Jill...” 

He vaguely remembers the camera feeds Wesker showed him, when the mansion blew up with everyone still inside. If Wesker had cameras in the mansion, maybe he is also monitoring the surrounding areas? He just needs to find where Wesker is watching the camera feeds, then he can use those to find Jill! That way he won’t have to leave and maybe won’t be punished as much. It hurt so much the last time...then he was trapped in darkness and cold and--

The wounds on his neck twinge in remembrance, making him break out in a cold sweat. Any mental clarity he previously had scatters like smoke in the wind. He doesn’t want any more pain! He just wants to be good, but even if he goes back to the room right now, he will still be punished for killing those mercenaries! **_They deserved it. They could have betrayed the Captain._**

**As if he needs to be protected by the likes of you.**

“I can still be useful! The Captain will need me…”

**That’s bullshit and you know it. Nobody wants you.**

“I just need to make sure she’s okay. After that the Captain…” 

**Will toss your sloppy ass out as soon as he can?**

“No! He’ll understand...”

**No one will come for you. If the B.S.A.A. finds you again, they’ll shoot you in the head. Or dissect you for parts like a broken jalopy, if you’re even good enough for that.**

He is trembling involuntarily and his thoughts are a mess. There is no way he can piece anything together. He rushes back towards the room he was originally in, but can’t remember how to get there and ends up running haphazardly through the hallways. The next room he stumbles into is warmer than the rest of the building, the stale air making him nearly choke. Large monitors line the walls. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet as the heat radiating from the computer terminals warms him in an almost painful way. As if his body is moving of its own accord, he approaches the monitors, which show several camera feeds of a town. A few feeds are black, like there is no signal.

It slowly returns to him that he needs to find Jill. She  _ has  _ to be alive. He can’t let her down again. He has been letting her down since the beginning, when he left Racoon City and went to Europe in order to investigate Umbrella. He accomplished nothing while Jill and Claire stayed behind. He didn’t even know that both of them almost died in the Racoon City disaster until after the fact. 

**Of course not. It barely took any time for Barry and Jill to take Umbrella down, but you? You took months to even find a hint.**

True… He didn’t get much done in France. If anything, he mostly traveled via the Parisian sewers or sneaked around abandoned buildings in order to hide from Umbrella’s hitmen. He befriended someone on a fluke, and sent that letter to Jill and the S.T.A.R.S. teammates to let them know he was okay. Little did he know, so many people died while he was gone... 

He has to stop for a moment to get his breathing under control. Once he finds a way, he needs to contact...the B.S.A.A.? No, Affini has it out for him. Now that he has gotten Finn and Piers killed, he will probably be executed on the spot. As for Claire, she will try to help him and get hurt again, so he must stay away. Barry? Barry’s probably dead, and even if he’d survived, he will still think that Chris is a useless failure with nowhere to go, just like before. He should go back to the Captain…but he will have to be punished before he can be trusted again, if ever. He fucked up so much, made it so his Captain can’t trust him… 

_ It’s Wesker’s fault for all of this. He was working for Umbrella and betrayed  _ us  _ first!  _ A small voice protests in the back of his mind. __

**_But he is taking care of me now, stopped Affini from hurting me, killed Clay for me._ ** __

_ I didn’t want Clay dead! I didn’t… _

**_I did. The Captain gave him what he deserved, what I wanted all along. He’s dead now, along with that idiot Flare. Finally burned himself out._ **

He takes a closer look at what is on the computer screens and freezes at the sight of men in military garb gathered at the town square. They must be from the B.S.A.A., but they seem to be leaving...without Jill...

“What are you doing, Chris?” He almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of Wesker’s voice. Wesker is standing in the doorway, red eyes glowing faintly behind the sunglasses. Shit. He needs more time. 

“L-looking for Jill...” 

The faint ringing sensation that usually accompanies his Captain’s presence seems to blend in with the whine of the computer fans, making him feel dizzy. The sight of his Captain makes his body ache in yearning. A keening sound escapes him. He wants so badly to go to his Captain’s side, to be held and touched, to feel better...but Jill...

“I just want to know if she is okay. I wasn’t gonna run away...”

“It is hard to believe you when you’ve been caught red-handed once again.” Wesker approaches, sounding irritated. He can all but feel the tingling pain from his Captain’s anger, even when he is not being touched yet. “You saw Jill die. No one can survive such an explosion. There is already enough punishment in store for you, but judging by your behavior, you must want more.”

He shivers in fear of the pain that will soon come. There is nowhere to run. He winces as Wesker pulls him close by the shirtfront. Why won’t the Captain understand? He can’t just do nothing when there is a chance that Jill needs his help. He also needs to find Jake and Sherry. He tries to get out of Wesker’s grip. The moment he moves, Wesker snarls and restrains him. Pain jolts through his body, making him struggle harder out of reflex. He escapes to the other side of the room to keep as much distance as possible between Wesker and him. On the computer monitors, he sees more B.O.W.s that look like what Piers turned into. They shimmer into and out of existence, seeming to be alive one moment and dead the next. Distracted, he is grabbed from behind by Wesker, who slams him against the wall.

“No! I have to make sure they’re safe! I have to!” he cries out and manages to break free with the last of his strength, tearing the shirt he has on. He stumbles back over to the monitors to figure out what is happening. The B.S.A.A. is nowhere to be seen despite the B.O.W.s and dead bodies all over town. He can’t find Jill.

**Looks like Affini made them hate her too. You weren’t there to help her at all.**

He remembers the sparsely-attended funeral and the freezing rain when he lost her the first time. His head hurts. Wait, it’s because Wesker is touching him… He bats weakly at Wesker’s hands, but they won’t go away.

“It appears you’ve overexerted yourself. Your little excursion has gotten your fever up again.” 

He staggers and falls, only to be steadied by Wesker. The painful touch makes him shudder and moan. He tries to keep an eye on the screens despite his blurring vision. 

“Though if you’re well enough to run away, you should be well enough to take your punishments.”

But Jill and Jake and Sherry… “They’re in danger... No…”

“Jill is dead. My son and Sherry will be retrieved in time.”

**They don’t need you. All you do is put them in danger.**

Wesker steers him away from the computer monitors. He teeters on the edge of consciousness, nearly tripping over his own feet. Everything tilts nauseatingly when Wesker picks him up without warning and carries him bridal-style. His limbs dangle awkwardly. He grasps at Wesker’s shirt to steady himself.

**Like you’d ever make a good anything. Like anyone would want you.**

“Shhh, behave.” His Captain’s voice calms him, but he can’t relax yet. What was he trying to do earlier?  **Does it matter? Your ramblings only ever were boring little things.** **_But the Captain listens to me. He always did._ ** _ It was an act. Wesker was trying to kill us all along! He still hates us.  _ **Of course he hates you. Why would he want you?** No! He will be good. He will be helpful... He will find a way to protect Jake and Sherry… Wait, that must be it. 

“Jake and Sherry...have to find them...”

“You can’t do much in your condition. Settle down.” 

The pain from being touched lessens and is slowly replaced by a satisfied kind of warmth. He squirms, not expecting the pain to be over. He still has to be punished and doesn’t deserve the warmth.  **And you never will** . 

His Captain carries him into a new room. This new base must be small, for them to have arrived so fast. He is laid down on a large, soft bed and has to be reminded to relax his hands, which are still clutching fistfuls of the Captain’s shirt. While he is trying to regain his bearings, Wesker takes a blood sample from him using a strange device and then moves to analyze the results on a machine, humming in approval at whatever the machine shows. Blinking slowly, he wonders what is so interesting, but doesn’t dare ask. 

He must have fallen asleep for a time, because the next thing he knows, Wesker is pulling him up by the shirtfront and shocking him into wakefulness. “We’ll start things slow. I think your little act of defiance warrants an additional round of punishment.”

He scrabbles at Wesker’s hand in sheer terror, despite Wesker’s expression immediately changing from mildly amused to annoyed. “No…I’m sorry, I’ll be good! I...I had to...I’ll be good!” Wesker’s grip is iron, unbreakable. Still, he twists in an attempt to escape. He’ll obey, but he can’t stop looking for Jill! Not until he’s sure! Not until he knows Jill is really dead! He can’t make the same mistake as last time!

Wesker reels him in, tearing more of the shirt. He uses the extra wriggle room to get away and scramble off the bed towards a corner of the room. Unlike the medical bed he woke up in, this one looks like a normal bed. He doesn’t see any restraints, but they must be hidden somewhere. Wesker seems perplexed by his actions for a moment before coming after him again. 

“Jill would have looked for me too. Please, please!” He doesn’t know what to do. If he leaves, where would he go? “I just want to see her, then I’ll come back... I promise...”

His begging only makes Wesker more irate. He tries to force himself to stop running away. If he behaves, maybe the Captain will forgive him… He feels like he is shaking himself apart in terror of what Wesker will do next.

His body betrays him as the threat of pain gets closer, shying away just before Wesker can grab him. He manages to dodge two more times before Wesker finally gets him, the shock nearly making him scream in agony. He struggles without success as Wesker drags him over to a padded bench of some kind...

_ He could only watch as Piers transformed into a monster before his eyes. Pain radiated in waves from where Wesker held him down. Pain everywhere…. _

Wesker’s grip is unrelenting as he is pushed face down onto the bench. He nearly succeeds in breaking away, but the continued pain from being touched weakens him until he is breathing raggedly. His wrists and ankles are tied and secured to a point underneath the bench, trapping him. The collar on his neck feels cold and heavy against his feverish skin. His jacket and shirt are both cut into shreds with a switchblade and ripped off of him. Wesker’s touch scares him far more than the knife, despite the blade nicking his skin several times. 

Wesker walks behind him and returns with a whip with multiple tails. “This is less stringent than what you deserve. Consider this a precursor to your full punishment.” 

The whip trails lightly against his shoulder. He can’t stop pulling at the restraints, but that is his body betraying him again. It won’t do what he wants at all. When the whip traces a line along his spine to his waistband, he struggles harder. 

“So, we will start small for now. Once your illness resolves, you will receive the rest of the punishment for your willfulness and poor choices.” 

He gasps when the first hit lands. The next one is just as solid. Like always, Wesker waits a few seconds between each hit for the pain to spike. His mind begins to race as the pain builds to unbearable levels. He sucks in shuddering breaths to try to calm down, to no avail. He is trembling from nerves as Wesker lands three more vicious blows, moving from his shoulders to the middle of his back in rapid succession. He holds back his cries, trying to show that he can be good. The lashing continues. 

“You seem so determined to prove...what, exactly, Chris?” Wesker prowls around him in a circle. “That I can trust you despite your repeated betrayals? When your loyalty was never to me? I gave you one chance after the next, allowed you to join S.T.A.R.S and gave you a purpose when everyone else discarded you. I acquired the man who brought you to such a low point, and took vengeance on your behalf. All the while, you whined and cried about it like an ungrateful child.” 

The whip comes down harder. He whimpers, shaking his head.  **Wesker’s right. You didn’t do anything about Clay.** But what could he have done? After what Clay did...he couldn’t... 

“Mouthing off already?” _“Are you arguing with me? You selfish, ungrateful punk.” He stood protectively in front of Claire, who cowered behind him._ “Ungrateful as usual.” _“Who is going to believe someone like you?” Clay’s breath was hot against his neck. “Do you even pay attention, you stupid fucking--”_

He screams and struggles madly, anything to get away. When he comes back to himself, he has lost time. Wesker is now in front of him and the beating has stopped. Confused and in pain, he continues to fight against the restraints. The other people hurt him for no reason, but his Captain has one. He was bad, and he is being punished for that...but… 

“Y-you betrayed us… You killed Bravo team...you tried to murder us…” Though he can hardly focus, he suddenly remembers the past vividly and feels so angry about what happened. He holds onto that, and onto Jill. He is Wesker’s now and there is no point in fighting, but it’s so unfair! Wesker is always obsessed with data and willing to sacrifice everything else! 

“We all trusted you! You tried to kill us, all for that half-formed monster that skewered you the moment you woke it up. At least Jill would never betray me! At least when Clay did, I knew what I was up against! You pretended to care and only got interested after you decided I was a good fuck!”

Wesker yanks his head up by the hair so that they are face to face. Pain flares along his scalp. Wesker’s angry, glowing red eyes bore into his own, but he holds his ground on this. He may deserve punishment, but he doesn't need to hear about how he’s disloyal or ungrateful from Wesker of all people!

Wesker’s face twists into a snarl. The whipping starts anew. He struggles so much that Wesker decides to hold him down by the back of the neck to keep him still. Unable to free himself and growing more exhausted by the minute, he cries out from the stabbing pains emanating from the bite marks on his shoulders. 

“I was going to go easy on you, but if you’re so willful and argumentative, I might as well do a full round right now.”

He refuses to beg or apologize. Unlike Jill, Wesker hasn’t cared about him until recently. If she is really dead, he wants to get her a proper burial at least. He can’t let things turn out like last time, when he stopped looking for her and left her for dead.

The whipping stops after every inch of his back has been beaten several times. He can’t help but go limp in relief. Unexpectedly, something opaque is placed over his eyes and secured around his head, blocking his vision entirely. He shakes his head and rubs his face on the bench, trying to dislodge it, but it won’t budge.

“I think you being able to see has caused enough trouble,” Wesker says.

He tugs restlessly at the restraints, though his efforts soon falter. Robbed of his sight, he begins to calm down for some odd reason. His remaining senses are fully occupied by Wesker, whose footsteps move away and stop somewhere nearby. He should try to get away, but the idea of being on his own again, of having no one…

The metal collar suddenly begins to choke him. He tries to fight and ends up being choked more, until he eventually figures out that he has to arch his back and lift his chin to be able to breathe. While he is wheezing and trying to get air back into his lungs, his upper arms are tied together behind his back with coarse rope that feels like sandpaper against his skin. His wrists remain attached to a point under the bench with only a few inches of give remaining, which severely limits his movements. Wesker moves to his legs next, all but tearing off the hastily put-on boots and pants. He hates being naked in this position. His mind goes into overdrive over all the things that Wesker could do to him.

A heavy wooden paddle is used on him next, rattling him out of his thoughts. It strikes along his ass and thighs, not stopping until every spot feels like it’s on fire and deeply bruised. It is then exchanged for a cold metal one that hurts even more and makes him cry out with each merciless smack. The way he is tied up makes it impossible to struggle without choking, pulling on something, or exposing himself more to the paddle. He tries anyway and gets nowhere.

He is too bewildered to react when Wesker’s fingers tease along his crease down to his balls. While he is distracted, Wesker unties his ankles and wraps something soft around each of them, attaching them to a bar that keeps his legs spread apart. He belatedly tries to close his legs and ends up choking himself badly on the collar. Desperate to breathe, he accidentally overcorrects his posture and tips over sideways, which puts painful pressure on his wrists and cuts off his air completely. He thrashes and flails in panic until Wesker steadies him back into place. As he is trembling and lightheaded from exertion and lack of air, Wesker strokes a possessive hand up his inner thigh, pressing firmly on each bruise. The angry-electric-burning pain from the touch is worse with the bruises. He tries to get away, only to choke and nearly fall over again. Wesker smacks him hard on one of the bruises. “Don’t start. You’re not moving until I decide you’ve learned your lesson.”

Wesker starts to hit him with something snappy, too short to be a whip. His eyes tear up as every available inch of his back, ass, and thighs is worked over once more. An agonized cry is forced out of him with every strike. His legs quiver uncontrollably and try to kick, but are unable to. The beating doesn’t stop until he is nearly suffocating from being choked by the collar, too tired to keep his back and neck arched. Wesker pulls him up by the rope around his arms, lifting his upper torso clear off the bench. The new position lets him breathe more easily, and he sucks in air greedily. 

“You don’t seem quite as argumentative now. Are you so quick to give up on your claims, Chris?”

“T-they aren’t claims,” he rasps. “You only cared about...that data, about that failed experiment.” He can’t see, nor can he get a good sense of Wesker’s mood because the man suddenly becomes unreadable, but he can all but imagine Wesker’s growing annoyance. “You didn’t g-give a damn about me until less than a year ago. That’s the truth.”

Wesker is silent. Something clicks open, probably the switchblade, then the pressure on his neck from the collar is gone. He is dropped back onto the bench, ever aware of how exposed he is with his legs forcibly spread. 

“You never did see the magnificence of the Tyrant project. The data was a hassle to obtain, but worth it in the end. Though to be fair, the earlier version had its flaws, which were all improved upon at a later point. I’m sure Jill told you many stories about Nemesis and its abilities.” 

Tensing at the mention of Jill, he wants to struggle again but is too worn out to do more than keep track of Wesker, who no longer seems angry. He closes his eyes behind the blindfold, beginning to regret his outburst. He will definitely be punished more for it...

“I have to admit, I should have taken you into my possession much earlier. Lenka’s efforts to control me inadvertently led me to realize how special you are....” The comforting warmth returns and seeps into his skin as Wesker strokes a hand down his back. Though the bruises still hurt, the tension bleeds out of him until he is completely limp, relieved that he won’t be abandoned. “You will receive the rest of your punishment, then we’ll have a talk. There is much to discuss, especially about your attitude as of late, but I will concede that you are right in some ways.”

It’s not much, but at least his Captain is giving him something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan of Work: Wait, so...  
> me: Anyone who was in the mansion died.  
> Fan: ...so...Jill...  
> me: She was in the mansion. there was no warning. it blew up. everyone in there died.  
> Fan: ...Piers is--  
> Me: He was turned into a BOW and, last we saw him, was in the mansion.  
> Fan:...........you're evil.  
> me: yes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker continues his punishment of Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is wonderful and keeps me from losing myself in weird tangents or forgetting to feed the bunnies.  
> Also Chris. I need to feed Chris. Crap...

The collar is useful. Wesker is pleased to have made it a permanent adornment, a sign of his claim on Chris. The younger man is much subdued, lying motionless on the bench and completely lax under his touch. Chris’s back, rear, and thighs are bruised and covered in welts. Having been kept in a stress position for almost the entirety of the flogging, Chris is exhausted and far more malleable for the next part of the plan. 

He wants nothing more than to shove himself into Chris’s receptive body, to claim Chris thoroughly now that they are alone together without an audience, but that will have to wait until after the punishment for the repeated betrayal and escape attempts. Chris’s rebellious attitude had no doubt encouraged Jake and Sherry into scheming the escape. He will retrieve them once Chris is better trained. The two B.S.A.A. underlings were also nothing but trouble. It is a relief that they are gone. The crippled dog is a loose end, but is unlikely to survive for long.

He traces the many bruises on Chris’s exposed thighs. Chris squirms, but is clearly trying to stay still. It is interesting to see Chris well-behaved so soon after the bout of rebellious back talk. Perhaps it is another ploy to make him lower his guard. He intentionally pinches at a bruise without warning to make Chris gasp and tense against the ankle restraints holding his feet to the spreader bar. No need to give Chris false hope of being easily forgiven, not after the long series of callous misbehaviors in Africa, at the school, and more recently. 

_ And I did promise him a talk later… We shall see. _

He slaps at a dark bruise that looks especially painful, then goes to retrieve the items he wants to use. He contemplates moving Chris upright. There is plenty of rope that can be used to bind Chris, and multiple hooks in the ceiling that Chris can be suspended from. The collar can be used as an additional anchoring point for the ropes to provide additional immobility and stabilization. Chris has never liked being strung up, but his protests are always drowned out by pain and pleasure in the end. He can already picture Chris’s body accented with ropes, trapped and at his mercy. Then he will pleasure Chris with his ever-growing collection of tools, just like before. Chris will be brought to the precipice, only to be allowed release at his whim.

Or, he can take his time with Chris spread and vulnerable on the bench. He also considers whether to move Chris to a different frame that will allow him to restrain Chris into more stringent positions, but ultimately decides against it because he wants to start playing right away. Besides, there is no shortage of time to do everything he wants, and then some. Chris will stay on the bench for now. Rope bondage is next on the list. 

The thought of the pleasure they will both enjoy after he is done administering the punishment makes him bite back a moan. He runs his hands along the welts and bruises decorating Chris’s skin. The younger man stays still except for a wince of discomfort. With the continued show of submission, he is tempted to believe that Chris will obey and stay where he belongs, but after the innumerable past instances of deception, it would be unwise to trust Chris so easily.

Readying a length of rope, he takes off the restraints and hauls Chris to a standing position. Chris stumbles blindly as he is turned around. Wesker kicks the spreader bar into place, causing Chris to fall backwards onto the bench with a gasp. Before Chris can react, he is pushed down and tied face-up, ass resting against the edge of the bench. Chris cries out in pain and shifts in an attempt to test his bonds, unable to get comfortable when every movement inadvertently presses harder on his injured back. The unmarked skin on Chris’s front is mildly feverish to the touch and nicely flushed, as if begging for more punishment. Either way, it is a tantalizing sight.

He pulls the spreader bar forward to allow for more access. The younger man loses balance briefly, though manages to stay on the bench this time. When he begins to touch the exposed and vulnerable body before him, Chris once again tries to dislodge the blindfold. He grabs Chris by the jaw in warning, which startles Chris badly. 

“Are you trying to get out of your punishment again?”

“N-no...” Chris stammers, shaking in fear even after he is released, and doesn’t move again. 

Smirking, he rubs along his point man’s abdomen and down to the groin, where Chris is visibly stirring in interest. What he wants to do next requires the cock to be flaccid, but he can’t pass up the opportunity to tease Chris beforehand.

He strokes along the muscled legs, watching Chris shudder and try to stay still. The half-hard cock is ignored except for an occasional barely-there touch, as much as he wants to simply swallow it down and claim his point man that way as well. Instead, he touches everywhere besides the groin and occasionally pinches at Chris’s thighs, raising up more bruises. Not expecting this treatment, Chris tries to shy away from the contact. He allows for it, as Chris is tied down too securely for any amount of struggling to matter. The constant pain from his bruised back and the pinching is so distracting that it takes a long while for Chris to reach full erection with the teasing touches alone. Chris’s breathing hitches as the pinching moves to his sides, finding one ticklish spot after another. Pleased with the effect, he scratches his fingertips up and down the heaving flanks, making the younger man jerk against the restraints. By the time he stops, Chris’s cock has lost some of its fullness. 

Readying a set of butterfly clamps, he sucks and licks Chris’s nipples into stiff peaks while Chris tries to arch his back, eager for more stimulation. Just as Chis’s cock twitches back to life, Wesker clamps both nipples at the same time. Chris lets out a shocked grunt, confused by the unfamiliar sensation. While toying with the clamps and enjoying Chris’s reactions, he debates whether to put weights on the clamps, but decides that the chain connecting them is sufficient. 

He begins to use a Wartenberg wheel, making sure to tug at the clamps occasionally to keep Chris guessing. The effect is instantaneous. Almost as if in pain, Chris whips his head back and forth when the sharp points are rolled in unpredictable patterns across his skin. Each area is never targeted for more than a few seconds at a time, to prevent Chris from habituating to the stimulation. Chris’s cock rises and fills, but ultimately wilts from the unbearable sensations. He strokes and slaps it a few times, getting his captive to nearly hyperventilate, feet scrabbling for leverage. Chris is all but thrashing when the sharp prongs of the wheel roll across his heaving abdomen, then his flanks. Holding down the spreader bar to keep the younger man still, he tends to the quivering thighs next. The muscles tense and spasm in futility, especially if a bruise is pressed on. With the Wartenberg wheel, Chris is pleasured to just before the point of no return, throbbing and poised for release, only to be kept at the boiling point until his erection flags from sheer overstimulation. Ignoring the desperate whimpers, he repeats this slow, methodical process time and time again.

Once Chris’s reactions begin to dull from exhaustion, he pulls repeatedly on the chain connecting the butterfly clamps, hard enough to make Chris scream. He continues until Chris is completely flaccid, then removes the clamps. Chris lets out another cry at the sudden return of circulation. He flicks and pinches both nipples as Chris writhes in his bonds, obviously hating the pain. Smirking at the sight, he moves to stand between his point man’s spread legs, eyeing the hole that is available for him to use if he so wants. But no. He will finish this punishment first, then he will fuck Chris to his heart’s content, fill and claim every inch. His displeasure at the recent misbehaviors should keep him from taking Chris on the spot, though being in proximity to Chris is quite a temptation.

He picks up the cock cage, a smooth metal contraption shaped into a series of concentric rings. A hollow sounding rod is part of the set, to provide further stimulation and torment. A permanent lock on Chris’s pleasure is unnecessary, given that Chris is only able to climax from his touch alone. He will take off the cage once the punishment is over, but for now, he is going to ensure that Chris is denied release no matter how much stimulation is provided. 

Holding back the urge to bite at Chris’s thighs, he carefully puts the cage on while using his weight to hold down the spreader bar and, thus, Chris. The whimpering and cringing turn into full body shudders as he works Chris’s balls through the ring at the base. He strokes the trapped cock with a fingertip, watching it throb and fill out inside the cage until it is pressing eagerly against the metal rings, unable to reach full erection. Lubing the sounding rod, he positions it at the tip of Chris’s cock, which immediately causes a commotion. The younger man wails and shakes his head, trying to buck his hips away. 

“Please! Please no! I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” Chris babbles hysterically.

“You haven’t proven that yet, Chris,” he announces. Purposefully, he inserts the urethral sound as slowly as possible to drag out the torment, rubbing Chris’s abdomen as a meager comfort. Chris turns his face away, panting shallowly and on the verge of panic, but somehow manages to stay fairly still. He locks the sound into place, ensuring that it cannot be forced out. Chris is still shaking. A few tears stains are visible on the fabric of the blindfold. 

“Now...” he runs a hand through Chris’s hair, glad to see that his point man is not trying to move away, though he wonders how long this will last. Chris has tried this act on him before, and it will not work again. “Let’s continue, so we can finish your punishment.”

=

Chris groans as he works to stay still. His wrists are tied together behind his head, secured in a way that keeps his elbows uncomfortably bent. The spreader bar keeps his feet in a wide stance, making him off-balance, especially with the blindfold on. At least he is not being forced to stand on his tiptoes... A metal thing, some kind of plug on a hook, was forced into him earlier. It rubs against his insides, and must be attached to his neck somehow. He has to keep his head, neck, and torso completely still. Otherwise, every movement makes the metal thing press harder into him until he is gasping and arching his back helplessly. 

There is a soft “click” from where Wesker is. He jumps as the thing begins to vibrate against an unbearably sensitive spot that makes his arousal flare sharply. In response, his cock strains against the cage to the point of pain. He gags at the feeling of the metal rod stuffing his cock. Every throb reminds him of the unyielding metal pressing on him from the inside.

He breathes hard when the vibration is finally shut off. Wesker stalks around him. He instinctively focuses on his Captain, but senses none of the warmth from earlier, only a mild irritation or nothing at all. Dejected, he closes his eyes behind the blindfold. He still hasn’t earned his Captain’s forgiveness... Losing his temper and talking back earlier only earned him more pain. He has to try harder to prove that he will be good from now on. He doesn’t want the punishment to get worse...

“Enjoying yourself, Chris?” 

Wesker’s fingers push along sore points on his back and thighs, making his body tense at the sudden pain. The vibrations click on again. He briefly wonders how Wesker is controlling the vibrations, must be a remote, but the staggering wave of pleasure drives the thoughts from his mind. He gasps and moans, tugging mindlessly at the restraints. His body wavers between leaning into Wesker’s hands in hopes of being allowed to come, or squirming away when the pleasure edges towards pain.

“You seem to be.” 

The vibrations stop, dragging a half-disappointed, half-relieved whine out of him. Wesker grabs his hips to stop them from bucking, fingers digging in hard. His body yearns for a soothing touch that is not granted.

“This is quite a handsome look on you, when you stop being stubborn and give yourself over to the sensations.”

He manages to hold back his protests except for a soft whine. He wants to be good, but can’t stop his random thoughts, his body betraying him. Wesker betrayed him in the past, didn’t care about him until recently, but who else does he have? He failed so many people. He can only hope that his Captain will give him another chance.

“Upset over something, Chris? You did speak your mind and tell the truth earlier. Indeed, it was only recently that I became fully invested in possessing you, but I was fond of you even before that. I never would have taken Clay otherwise. It is good to see your behavior improve. I hope for your sake that it is not an act.”

“I...I’ll be good…”

“Will you?” Wesker’s teeth graze along his neck and jaw. Trembling, he tries not to flinch away from whatever will come next. The touches still don’t hurt, which means Wesker isn’t angry at him, but neither is Wesker in a good mood. He tries to suck in a slow breath to calm himself down, which turns into a ragged wheeze when Wesker’s fingers scrape down his sides. He tries and fails to not to squirm away, though the ropes ultimately prevent him from moving much. 

Wesker huffs. The vibrations resume. “You  _ do  _ seem to be making more of an effort than before. Hm.”

Wesker walks away, which initially alarms him until he realizes that Wesker is staying close by. He waits, hoping that his Captain will give him some leeway. If he is good…

**You are not worth it at all. The fact that he’s even paying attention to you should make you wonder. Why would anyone waste time on a useless piece of trash like you?**

He wants to argue, but holds his tongue. Wesker approaches and runs a hand up his front, from his stomach to his chest. Then the horrible item from earlier returns. Any patch of skin the item touches feels like it is being continuously poked and tickled by pinpricks. Being unable to see where the item will be used next makes it even worse. It goes everywhere - his chest, his back, his thighs, and even his underarms. As the torture continues, his toes curl and his hands claw helplessly at nothing. 

There is a pause in the unbearable sensations when Wesker puts something over his left hand. It feels like the mitts that Wesker used on him in the past. He hangs his head in resignation as the other mitt goes on. The restrictive mitts keep his hands completely immobilized. He can’t even bend a single finger. 

Wesker walks somewhere else, farther away this time.  **He’s leaving you behind.**

He whimpers in fear of being left alone. Eventually, the footsteps get closer to him again, the Captain’s presence grounding him.  **You’re dreaming. As if he would really be here. As if he would want to touch you.**

“C-Captain…” he begs, only to be struck by a whip. Despondent, he chokes on a sob as the whip comes down on his chest, then his flanks. Wesker stalks around him in a circle, striking unpredictably. The restraints keep him vulnerable and easily unbalanced. Any attempt to evade the lashing pulls painfully at his arms and makes him stumble. Before he can regain his footing, a strike lands between his shoulder blades, which makes him lurch forward. Wesker continues the flogging, pausing at times to steady him. There is no sign that he is going to be forgiven.

**It’s not him. He has given you to someone else to play with.**

“You seem to be a bit more active now, aren’t you?” A hand slaps his bruised ass repeatedly. “Are you trying to gain favor by calling me that, Chris? Could you be trying to get out of the punishment again?”

**Even he can tell you’re insincere. He’s thrown you away already.**

“N-no,” he pants, trying to deny these harsh accusations from...who...? “P-please--Ah!” The hand hitting him comes down more harshly. The hook is adjusted in order to make the plug press harder on the sensitive spot inside him that Wesker is always able to find. He throws his head back at the feeling of the vibrations right against that spot. The mix of pain and pleasure is dizzying, with no possibility of release or respite. The terrible item that feels like pin pricks returns. It goes up and down his flanks, the ticklish sensations sending him into convulsions. It then moves to his chest and rolls firmly over each nipple. Hot fingers follow, squeezing and tugging without mercy. Every one of his senses is abuzz from the assault of stimulation from all sides. Distantly, he can feel his body thrashing about like a broken marionette. He can hardly hear his own screaming and begging because his ears are full of the high pitched ringing that indicates the Captain is close. 

“C-ca-captain...uh...p-please...” he sobs. The vibrations stop after another hard tug on his nipples. He doesn’t even realize how turned around he is until Wesker sets him back on his feet from whatever swaying and struggling he is doing. He feels parched, tired, cold then hot at times. Despite the heat of his Captain’s hands, he shivers uncontrollably whenever he is touched.

Something clink softly together, then ice touches his sternum. He jerks back from the sudden cold. Wesker chuckles and rubs the ice all over, leaving behind trails of icy water to slowly drip down his front. He shivers harder from the freezing cold. It takes every ounce of willpower to not move away.

“You’re doing all you can to prove yourself, aren’t you?” Wesker murmurs. Teeth graze along his chest before the ice touches his perked nipples. Wesker’s mouth is back on him, licking along the trails of cold water. “I should be glad, but you’ve played these games before.”

He doesn’t dare deny it, recalling the other times he tried to escape. He trembles continuously, miserable and sapped of body heat. The cold feels worse than the bruises and welts. 

A piece of ice unexpectedly trails down his lower back. Forgetting momentarily about the metal thing inside him, he tries to buck, which jostles the hook and grinds the plug hard against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. He freezes for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape, before he begins to thrash in the restraints. Wesker grips his hips tightly, stopping his erratic movements, and holds him long enough for him to settle. The ice returns to his shoulders and upper back, then his chest. Panting, he tries to get himself back under control. His skin feels overly hot now. A pounding headache builds behind his eyes. 

Something sharp pokes his arm, though it disappears quickly. The vibrations are turned to a higher level than before. He lets out a near scream at the sudden increase in stimulation, hips rutting into the air for an orgasm that is not going to happen. The vibrations taper off teasingly, leaving him primed and desperate, then returns at full force. Howling, he bucks and thrashes, trying to find something to push himself over the edge. His trapped cock and balls feel painfully swollen. 

He struggles until he slumps in the restraints, too tired to hold himself up anymore. His arms hurt from bearing his entire weight. He tries to get his feet under him, but his legs refuse to cooperate.

“...can’t...n-no…”

“Hm, looks like this will be enough for today.” Wesker lifts him back up to his feet, supporting most of his weight. The vibrations stop. The soaked blindfold is taken off. He blinks dumbly, eyes slow to focus. He is so weak… He can’t even finish the punishment without needing a break... 

“Please...” He is not sure what he is asking for anymore. More punishment, so he can prove he’s not lying about trying to be good?  **Aren’t you though? You always lie to your Captain. You lied about Clay, about everything… You even lied to your precious** **_Jill_ ** **. What’s one more lie from a freak like you?**

Wesker slowly drags the metal plug out of him. He chokes down a moan when the item is pulled out to its widest point, then teasingly pushed back in. Wesker does it again and again, making him clench involuntarily against the plug. His legs wobble dangerously.

“You’ve come a long way… I can get you to moan so prettily at anything now, can’t I Chris?” Wesker muses. Nearly cross eyed from the stimulation, he is too preoccupied to reply. 

Finally, the plug is pulled out all the way. Wesker releases his ankles and wrists, easily catching him when he collapses. “A few denied orgasms and spent already? Though you do need rest, and I haven’t the time to keep playing with you today. Tomorrow we will finish this.”

He is relieved to be brought to the soft bed. Once he lays down, he doesn’t move again despite the pain from the bruises being aggravated. His limbs are leaden from exhaustion. The cage remains on his cock. He averts his eyes, unable to look at the metal piece inserted into him.

Wesker strokes him through the cage, making him whimper softly. “I’ll take this off after the rest of your punishment, if you are good.”

He shudders at the threat of the metal rod being left in even longer. The last two times had hurt so much... The first time, he was lulled to sleep by Wekser, only to wake up to a painful lesson. The second time... 

Suddenly apprehensive of what will happen if he falls asleep, he forces himself to stay alert so that he can’t be hurt again. Wesker sits down on the bed next to him and gently rubs a cool salve onto his welts and bruises. The soothing touches make it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He tries to focus instead on other pains and the buzzing of his senses from Wesker being so close.

Some lab equipment in a corner makes a soft beep and Wesker leaves to check on it. There always seems to be lab equipment in the rooms where he is kept... Wesker returns, visibly pleased about whatever the machines are showing, and begins to stroke his hair, occasionally running a hand down the back of his neck to his shoulder. He can’t help but relax more, his headache fading away.

“Rest, Chris. You did well this time.”

Afraid of being tricked, he clings to awareness despite how good the soft bed and touches feel. If he doesn’t stay awake, Wesker could start punishing him again...like before…

He shakes his head weakly as Wesker’s hand continues to run through his hair, his eyes closing involuntarily from the pleasure and warmth. When Wesker moves away to where the lab equipment is, he forces open his eyes by a sliver despite it making his headache return. The ringing sound coming from Wesker is like white noise lulling him to sleep.

_ No, I have to...have to... _ **_if he does anything, it’s just what I deserve._ **

**All you are is his little bitch. He is going to deal with you, like he should have years ago.**

No matter his attempts to keep awake, he finds himself slipping into the darkness.

=

Chris seems to be fighting sleep, despite how tired he is from the punishment session. Wesker almost loses control of himself. If Chris is not willing to sleep when given the privilege, then why not use him until he is worn down enough to rest calmly? As if aware of these tempting thoughts, Chris curls into a fetal position, like he sometimes does when afraid.

“Don’t...please...no…”Chris mumbles, arms and legs twitching fitfully. His eyelids flutter, but he remains asleep for now.

Ever since being apprehended at the school, Chris has been suffering from nightmares, which are now severe to the point of significantly interfering with sleep. Something must have happened while Chris was with the B.S.A.A. to have caused these nightmares to develop. Or perhaps Chris is upset about the loss of the B.S.A.A. underlings, whom he seems excessively attached to. If they weren’t such a malignant influence, he would have kept them alive a little longer for additional testing. The infected one could have yielded some interesting data. Chris’s reactions to their fate would also have been entertaining.

He will investigate the exact nature of these unexpected physical changes Chris is undergoing, to avoid any more unpleasant surprises or escape attempts. Not that there is anywhere better for Chris to go, if the B.S.A.A. mistreated then discarded him. There has been no sign of movement around the old facility or the town after the explosion. The B.S.A.A. probably decided to cut their losses after collecting Jake and Sherry.

Speaking of the two of them, Sherry and Jake have become close after their chance meeting. They will no doubt stay together, which will make them easier to retrieve later on. Sherry is fully grown and has inherited the intellectual aptitude of her parents, judging by her academic achievements. Annette and William would be proud. She should know to keep her mouth shut around the B.S.A.A.. The only potential complication is that Jake may let slip who his father is and end up under greater surveillance, or worse. It would be far safer for her and Jake to be with him.

Though first, he plans to ensure that Chris doesn’t get anymore foolhardy ideas into his head, to forestall any future ploys of rebellion. Well, perhaps that can wait until after the next punishment session or two, and the more enjoyable activities once Chris is properly repentant. He holds in a groan at the thought of being inside Chris, of using Chris’s mouth while sucking him off. While he wants nothing but to claim Chris  _ now _ , he must wait. The repeated betrayals deserve a lengthy punishment, however much needed to for Chris to learn that scheming and disobedience will not be tolerated. When the lesson finally sticks and Chris’s mindset truly changes for the better, then his point man will be rewarded and be well taken care of.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris wakes up, and the punishment continues with Wesker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is helping me so much with this! I swear finding ways to punish Chris is so tiring...If only he'd give in sooner. But we're almost there.

_ January 4, 2011 _

He claws his way back into consciousness, squinting at the light. Trembling, he makes himself as small as possible. He would rather be punished than to go back to the nightmares, to all that darkness. A steady hand strokes his back until he calms, then helps him sit up. A bottle of water is brought to his mouth. He drinks eagerly, resting against the warm, solid body behind him. The water is cool and sweet, and he makes sure to finish every drop. The hand gently brushes his hair back from his forehead. Caressing fingers linger along his jawline and face. He leans into the touch, wanting more of it.

“Still tired?” He blinks open heavy eyelids that he doesn’t remember closing. His Captain is watching him with a curious expression. “Your sleep wasn’t restful, it seems. We’ll have to tire you out properly next time, so you can sleep more soundly.”

He moans in exhaustion, reminded that the punishment is not over. Why doesn’t the Captain just finish the punishment in one go? Why bother being nice when he doesn’t even deserve it? Fearful of what is to come, he tries half-heartedly to pull away from the arm holding him up, but is too exhausted to put up much of a fight. It’s like he hasn’t gotten any rest at all. 

Wesker lifts him to his feet, half-carrying him to a chair. When his hands are restrained behind him and his forehead secured with a leather strap, he recognizes the chair he is sometimes fed in. Is food coming soon? Perking up in anticipation, he watches intently as his Captain goes to pick up a bowl from near the door. 

“You need to be fed. I had intended for you to be fed prior to transport, but those mercenaries have shown themselves to be incapable of following orders.” 

Wesker returns with the bowl and shows off the contents, some kind of porridge or gruel. His stomach growls loudly at the sight. The Captain brings up a spoonful of gruel with an indulgent expression, which he immediately accepts. Driven by hunger, he opens his mouth eagerly for each spoonful of food. When the bowl is almost empty, he notices that the gruel is barely seasoned, though he is honestly too out of it to care after all the nightmares and what he saw yesterday. Or was it the day before? Earlier today? The lack of any way for him to tell the time only reminds him that he is trapped, that Jill is…

He tries and fails to find something else to distract himself with. Increasingly distraught, he begins to tug at his trapped hands, but stops when Wesker ruffles his hair fondly.

“I should have performed a more thorough check up on you before we began, but now that we are halfway done, I see no reason to put things on hold. When this is over, I will ensure that you’re properly cared for.”

Wesker feeds him the rest of the gruel. For the last few bites, he can’t help but frown at the bland taste and runny texture, now that the worst of the hunger has been sated. Wesker raises an eyebrow. “You’re quite a picky eater, for one who still has another day of punishment left.” 

He cringes at the warning and doesn’t talk back, not wanting to start the punishment any sooner than necessary. His time asleep had been one nightmare after another, but his mind is clearer now. He’s not about to give in and beg as much as he had before. This time, he  _ will  _ find Jill, and he is not going to get caught again. 

**Are you sure about that? You always give in, no matter if it’s from a beating or a gentle touch. You’ll be eating out of his hand the moment he frees your cock, or the moment he decides to fuck you. Which sloppy, useless hole of yours will he take first?**

He tries to keep a straight face. Even if what Wesker showed him about Jill is true, he has to see for himself before he believes it. He pulls at the restraints out of frustration, but can’t even move a single finger. There is no other way. In order to get out of the restraints, he has to finish the punishment to Wesker’s satisfaction. Afterwards, he will find another chance to sneak out. If he is quick, he can check on Jill and be back without Wesker noticing that he was ever gone. Once he does that, he will be good and never give his Captain cause to punish him again.

**Why bother? They’re all dead.** No! It’s not for sure! There’s no proof! What if she escaped? **You’re in denial, not that this kind of stupidity is out of character for you.**

He does his best to focus on his goal and not mull over the dark thoughts. While he is still tied to the chair, Wesker strokes a hand over each of his thighs. “Let’s finish the rest of your punishment, shall we?” 

=

Wesker smirks as he traces a finger lightly along Chris’s spine, causing the younger man to tense in the restraints. Chris has been well-behaved since waking up, showing no resistance when he was guided into position. This time, Chris is bent over a T-bar, wrists and ankles restrained below by padded cuffs. The marks and bruises have healed after the night of rest, revealing a fresh canvas of pale skin. He plans to move to a new base of operations for the summer, and will make sure to give Chris time in the sun so that the younger man can get more of a tan. He enjoys seeing that healthy glow on his point man.

The other frames and implements are ready for use, but he wants to continue where he left off. He picks up an ice cube from the chilled glass and traces it along Chris’s spine. The younger man jolts and tries to squirm away from the cold.

“You’re quite sensitive,” he teases as he moves the ice further down to Chris’s lovely ass, at times threatening to press the ice between the buttocks. Chris becomes frantic at that, starting to tug at the restraints. When the ice cube becomes too small to work with, he gets a new piece and moves it along a similar path, though he changes the pattern when Chris tries to anticipate the sensations. Soon, Chris is shivering, cold water dripping along each swell and divot of the straining back muscles. He leans down to lick at the trails of water, keeping Chris down with a hand between the shoulder blades. His point man shivers harder when he nips lightly at the claiming scars.

“Don’t like the cold?”

“N-no...no more...” Chris babbles, teeth chattering.

He licks up a few more trails of cold water before drying Chris off with a towel, enjoying the view. A few muscle groups will need additional exercise to make them more defined. Another thing to work on when the punishment is all done. 

“Time to warm you up.”

Chris strains to get a look at him when he gets the next item, a thin red candle. Involuntarily, his mind wanders to fantasies of items of a thicker girth being worked in and out of that tight hole until Chris is begging to be properly claimed… He sets aside a black candle and a blue candle for later. Moving behind Chris, he lights the candle and positions it over Chris. When enough hot wax has accumulated, he slowly tips the candle to drip the wax onto Chris’s shoulder, which causes the younger man to gasp in shock. Smirking, he allows more drops of hot wax to fall, painting Chris’s back with dots of red. Lighting the black candle next, he uses both black and red candles to make a lattice pattern on Chris’s back. The younger man twists his head this way and that to try to see what is happening, breaking apart the congealed wax in the process. Suddenly struck by a brilliant idea, he collects as much hot wax as possible and upends the entirety onto Chris. At the cry of pain, he spanks Chris hard, causing another yelp.

“I did say I’d warm you up.” 

He lights the blue candle and uses it in conjunction with the other two, enjoying the sight of the tri-colored wax coating Chris’s back. Seeing the reddened skin of the upturned buttocks, he targets that area specifically with the wax. The copious amounts of congealed wax constantly fragments from Chris’s restless movements. 

When the candles get too low, he sets them aside. “You didn’t seem to enjoy being warmed up,” he muses. Chris throws him a baleful glare that quickly becomes contrite when he displays the Wartenberg wheel. “Perhaps we should try something else, since you’re being so particular.”

Chris goes limp at the threat, eyes downcast. To take advantage of the sensitized skin, Wesker uses the Wartenberg wheel to break up the rest of the wax. Nearly hyperventilating, Chris squirms as the wheel is rolled across his straining back to his bucking hips. Wesker wipes off the broken wax and runs a claiming hand up and down the trembling body, eyeing the expanse of reddened skin in appreciation. He ought to finish the punishment before he takes Chris again, but a brief diversion is due. It is his right to use what belongs to him. 

Suddenly feeling possessive, he grabs Chris by the back of the neck. Chris had not only tried to escape, but had also sent Sherry and Jake off to unknown dangers, had chosen that worthless excuse of an organization over where he rightfully belongs. Despite lesson upon lesson on how fruitless it is to try to escape, Chris remains stubbornly fixated on the B.S.A.A. and is likely scheming another escape even now. After all those months apart, is Chris still refusing to accept the fact that he will never feel pleasure again unless it is at Wesker’s hands? 

“I’ve given you a great deal of leeway. It is time to move to the actual punishments,” he threatens, no longer in the mood for leniency.

Chris trembles, eyes darting every which way. “Captain...no...I…”

The feigned submission annoys him further. This facade is clearly meant to manipulate him into lowering his guard. Does Chris really believe him to be so easily fooled? Chris is undeserving of any leeway. Why shouldn’t he use Chris as he pleases, after all of the trouble Chris has caused? It will be a fitting way for his point man to learn who should be prioritized, especially with the cage preventing any possibility of release. It won’t take long… By the time they are done here, Chris will be as insensible from pleasure as the pain. Then, he will lavish Chris with attention until the younger man is conditioned to seek comfort from him and him alone. 

He examines his selection of toys, debating on what to use next. Chris has been mouthy since yesterday and it is time to deal with that. The spider gag will be warning enough, and will prevent any further begging and crying to get out of punishments. The rest of the items he wants to hide for now, as Chris never reacts well to some of them. Chris cranes his neck to see what is going on, to no avail.

He walks in front of his captive with the spider gag in hand, slightly appeased by the pleading in those wine-colored eyes. He strokes the edge of Chris’s mouth with a thumb. “Open. No more arguments from you.”

Chris appears increasingly wary, but obeys without a word and opens his mouth for the gag to be put in, though he does wince in discomfort when it is set into place. Smirking at the resigned look, he gently rubs Chris’s lower back, which causes Chris’s hips to jerk. 

“My, aren’t you so eager to be used again. Is it because we don’t have an audience?” 

Chris freezes for a moment, then immediately becomes agitated, most likely remembering what happened to his little subordinate. Chris is unfortunately still driven by his attachment to other individuals, given how easily he can be provoked into agitation and defiance at the barest reminder of them. Additional training will be required to make Chris truly submit to him. That infected underling is an experiment that he has no qualms about abandoning, if it is helping to sever Chris’s other attachments. It is part of the appeal, the strength and intensity of Chris’s bond with his former teammates. However, that devotion belongs to him alone. With Jill dead, a major thorn in his side has been eliminated. A few pesky attachments from the past still tempt Chris into rebellion, but he will train his point man out of this behavior, starting now.

“Today, you’ll learn to behave even without an audience,” he says as he pulls Chris’s legs apart and ties the ankles down to anchoring points on the floor. Chris thrashes and snarls like a wildcat, unable to get free. “An audience is for  _ special occasions _ . No one is looking for you now. You’re mine.” 

In response to the murderous glare, he delivers a vicious spanking to Chris’s backside. “You do love to be contrary - struggling while your mouth is open and waiting for my cock, fighting even as your body demands I give you what you so desperately want. Weren’t you begging a little earlier?” 

As he continues the spanking, Chris makes sounds of pain, or perhaps of anger. The growling and agitation get fiercer. 

“You’re back to being quite unruly. Your good behavior never seems to last.” 

Chris continues to make belligerent sounds, only to squeak in outrage when fingers tease along the cleft of his ass. Wesker debates on a finger banging, or perhaps even eating out his angry point man for something novel, but ultimately decides on the fucking machine. Chris has greatly enjoyed its use in the past, though this time, it will be for punishment. He preps Chris briefly for the insertion. Ever ungrateful, Chris struggles and tries to buck away from the probing fingers.

“You protest even when I’m being so considerate.” He moves the machine into place so that the thick dildo is pressed against Chris’s entrance. He starts the machine at a slow setting, watching the dildo penetrate the thrashing body inch by painstaking inch. The struggles stop once Chris realizes the girth and length of the dildo, in disbelief that something so large is being forced into him. Chris’s face soon scrunches in pain, but the younger man stays very still, most likely afraid of hurting himself.

“Do you like it? Perhaps I should be jealous.” He runs a hand through Chris’s hair. The younger man relaxes somewhat and groans miserably from the continued intrusion, eyes averted in defeat, though some defiance remains in his expression. 

Wesker unzips his pants, hard in anticipation of using his point man. Grabbing a fistful of Chris’s hair, he thrusts into the held-open mouth just as the dildo bottoms out. Chris looks indignant, helpless to do anything to stop himself from being impaled on both ends. The wine colored eyes squeeze shut, before they fly open in shock when he rams in deep enough to block Chris’s airway. Humming in satisfaction at the sounds of Chris choking on his cock, he continues to use Chris’s mouth while the machine pummels the other end. The dildo is too thick for Chris to adjust to, and is thrusting at the wrong angle to be pleasurable. Chris eventually goes limp, eyes watering and saliva dripping down his chin. 

He is sorely tempted to keep going, but he has to hold off. The younger man is unmoving in the restraints except for the tensing of his back muscles with each slow thrust of the machine. Chris takes quick, shallow breaths, as if he can barely inhale with how much he is being filled from behind. While Chris is occupied, he sets up the new items just out of Chris’s line of sight, then spends some time just watching the machine thrust in and out. When he thinks Chris has had enough, something about the hunch of Chris’s shoulders, he pulls the thick dildo out of that thoroughly used hole, with a shudder from his captive. 

“You took it so well. We should try that more often.” He gives Chris’s backside a few swats, then picks out the set of electrodes, an exceptionally effective tool for getting Chris back into a cooperative mindset. He enjoys watching Chris fight these, only to become meek and unresisting in the end. Chris babbles something unintelligible behind the gag as the electrodes are placed on his balls, perineum, and inner thighs. The caterwauling commences when the electricity is turned on. He also takes the liberty to use the cattle prod on Chris’s back and flanks, causing the screams to get louder. Chris struggles madly against the unpredictable electric shocks set to go off at random intervals. The well-timed taps with the cattle prod make the ordeal even more unbearable. He periodically lowers the voltage to allow Chris to get in a few gasps of air, and is rewarded with full-throated screams when the voltage is turned back up.

Seeing the small puddle of saliva on the floor, he considers using Chris’s mouth again, his own length throbbing in desire. To avoid further temptation, he retrieves something to block that inviting mouth. The inflatable gag is a good mouthful even at its smallest size, though he plans to expand it if Chris keeps up his protests.

“A change of pace,” he announces, exchanging the spider gag for the new one. He massages Chris’s jaw to relieve the soreness. Chris is dazed and shaking under his touch, docile once more. He turns on the electricity again, at a lower level this time to give Chris a chance in the game he has in mind. Every time Chris cries out, he inflates the gag. Slow to recognize the pattern, Chris shakes his head in confusion as his jaw is stretched uncomfortably wide. Once Chris finally realizes the pattern, he attempts to muffle his cries in order to avoid having the gag expand any further. It is great entertainment to experiment with what will make Chris scream. He teases along the exposed chest and abdomen with the cattle prod to help things along, though Chris stays stubbornly quiet. Amused by the challenge, he programs the shocks to become increasingly painful. While his captive is trying to bite back noises, he pinches and twists the sensitive nipples. Chris loses control and screams, earning himself another size up on the gag.

He decides to use a violet wand, a new item. Instead of a harsh shock over a large area, the wand is comparatively mild and more precise. He touches the wand to Chris’s back, which causes a hoarse cry and a reflexive muscle spasm. Chris struggles at each touch of the wand, hackles raised at the sound accompanying each shock. He has fun moving the wand underneath to touch the already sensitized nipples and chest. At each cry of pain, he inflates the gag further. Eventually, Chris falls silent, unable to scream anymore due to the gag being pumped up as far as it will go. Chris is red-faced and clearly in pain, breathing shallowly through his nose due to the oversized gag. He strokes a hand down Chris’s back and ends with a firm spank before starting to use the wand again. While Chris tugs feebly at the padded cuffs, he seeks out every sensitive spot with the wand, with great results. He should have started using this earlier. 

He turns off the electricity to give Chris a short break, then picks out a thick plug with four aggressively stacked ridges. Unaware of his plans and believing the pain to be over, his captive sags in relief. He traces the swollen ring of Chris’s hole, only to find that it has tightened up, likely from the electric shocks. After applying lube, he patiently works his fingers in and out until Chris is as open as before. His point man needily tries to press into the touch in hopes of more pleasurable stimulation, but he is careful to avoid the prostate. Instead, he replaces his fingers with the plug and inserts it with a steady push. Chris whines at the new intrusion, sounding almost disappointed.

“Oh, you seem upset at being full again,” he teases while slowly working the plug in until the second to last ridge, then turns on the electricity without warning. Chris convulses, completely bewildered, and begins to thrash in the restraints with renewed energy, even though each movement is more painful than the next. He watches in amusement as Chris suffers through the rightly deserved punishment. He particularly enjoys seeing Chris clench involuntarily around the plug with every shock, bringing it more snugly against the prostate.

With the gag blocking most of his airway, Chris eventually becomes too tired to do more than twitch at each agonizing shock. He turns down the voltage and partially deflates the gag to let Chris breathe easier. Taking gasping breaths around the gag, the younger man trembles from head to foot, too scared to be lulled into complacency like last time. He ponders his next steps. The punishment is far from over, though by the time it ends Chris will no doubt require much calming and soothing, given the heightened state Chris has worked himself into. He will also have to provide some relief for all this pent up need.

He administers a few more shocks, with little response from Chris besides a raspy moan, before removing the electrodes. He gently massages Chris’s full balls in one hand to make the caged and stuffed cock plump up, then positions the violet wand against the cage. The younger man screeches in pain at the first touch, spurred into another bout of futile agitation. It doesn’t stop him from tormenting Chris with the plug. He pulls the plug out nearly all the way then forces it in until the final ridge pops in, causing more wailing and struggling. 

Interested in having Chris’s front side more accessible, he retrieves several pieces of rope in preparation to suspend his captive upright. As soon as the cuffs come off, Chris flails his arms and scrabbles at anything within reach, but is unable to accomplish anything due to his hands being mitted. With little effort, he wrenches Chris’s arms back and secures them with rope. Chris’s legs are likewise folded backwards and tied apart, allowing full access to his front and groin. Writhing impotently against the rope binding his limbs, the younger man lets out various groans and huffs at the new position. 

Once the ropework is to his liking, he hangs his immobilized captive from the ceiling hooks. His point man looks at him with increasing trepidation, eyes flashing red when he brings out the butterfly clamps and clothespins, which he plans to use on Chris’s thus-far unblemished front. He smirks at the garbled protests Chris tries to make behind the gag as he lowers Chris into a convenient height so that every inch of available skin can be worked over. 

He traces a finger appreciatively along Chris’s pectorals. After teasing and licking the stiff nipples to a deep red, he opens up the butterfly clamps and applies each one separately, to ensure that Chris experiences the sensations to the full extent. Chris grimaces and whips his head back and forth, as if that will dislodge the clamps. He gives the chain between the clamps a tug, just to hear Chris whine. 

He moves down to tease Chris’s balls, causing a moan whenever he strokes the wrinkled skin. Occasionally, he pulls down on them to make Chris gasp. The well-trained body reacts as expected. By the time he is done, the soft skin is flushed and more sensitive than ever. He wraps a piece of twine around the base of the scrotum, then hangs a small weight from the twine. The weight is light enough that it should only be moderately uncomfortable, unless Chris decides to struggle.

He adds a line of clothespins to Chris’s front, nipping at the skin before applying each clothespin. The younger man keens as the painful pinch from the clothespins blanches the skin, then eventually causes the area to go numb. When Wesker flicks at the line of clothespins, Chris tries to twist away from the renewed pain, but quickly stops as the movement causes the weight to swing and tug on his already heavy balls. 

“We’re not quite done yet,” he reminds Chris, picking up the violet wand again. Eyes glowing bright in terror, Chris shakes his head and starts to struggle, no longer deterred by the weight tied to his balls. Gripping Chris’s leg to keep him in place, Wesker brings the wand to the end of the sounding rod, causing a howl of agony. Chris thrashes in earnest, enough to make himself sway in the ropes. Another touch to the tip of the caged cock causes Chris to jerk his hips and clench hard around the plug still buried deep in his ass. As the wand continues to be used on his most delicate areas, Chris screams himself hoarse, completely inconsolable. When Chris’s throat is too ruined to make more than rasping, broken squeaks, Wesker decides to take a break. He will definitely have to do this again later. There is another restraint frame he has in mind that will hold Chris immobile with his legs raised and splayed wide apart. He will move Chris there next.

He attaches several more lines of clothespins, then spends some time pulling experimentally on the clothespins or nipple clamps while seeking out every sensitive spot with the wand, frequently targeting the genitals. Chris seizes in the ropes, looking barely cognizant. To keep Chris in place, he ties the rope securing Chris’s legs to an anchor on the floor. It becomes much easier to aim the wand after that.

When the struggles die down, he rips off the first line of clothespins, massaging the blood back into the area before applying a shock. At this sensory assault, a raw gurgle is forced out of Chris’s throat, followed by full-body tremors. The younger man is wide-eyed and on the verge of tears, looking utterly overwhelmed. The reaction is so lovely that he has to recreate it again. He repeats this process for the next line of clothespins, then another, triggering a fit of convulsions. When Chris finally stills, he removes the butterfly clamp from one nipple, rubbing the sore bud as it reddens and swells. He licks and sucks at it as his overstimulated point man whimpers and tries to turn away. Despite the show of reluctance, the caged cock throbs in need of a soothing touch.

He pulls at the large plug, hearing Chris moan in discomfort. Chris pants as the first ridge slowly slides past the tender rim of his hole, only to be forced back in quickly.

“You are quite excited by this.” He fucks Chris in steady motions with the plug, watching Chris’s back arch each time a ridge stretches the swollen ring. The younger man shakes his head half-heartedly, still coherent enough to be contrary. 

He sets up the final restraint frame he has in mind. It is so tempting to take Chris, especially with Chris’s ass already prepped and ready to be used. Though Chris’s mouth is far sweeter… Or perhaps he will simply spend himself on Chris instead of using any of Chris’s holes. It is not the optimal alternative, but it is one that will deny Chris any further pleasure, as well as add to the humiliation. He has given Chris enough pleasure for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole torture session was getting long. Cut off the last part to go to the next chapter, along with sexy times. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of the torture, with also some rest for Chris and simple sexy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, lullite, and to my fans, for letting me keep up this story. Oh, this story I swear. I'm loving it at times. especially in 2020.
> 
> ...I'm not sorry Chris, I'll give you hugs later.

Wesker releases Chris from the ropes and hauls him to the restraint frame. Besides the occasional squirming whenever a painful area is touched, Chris is glassy-eyed and unresisting. He guides his pliant captive into place. Chris’s arms are tied above his head, legs secured overhead with a spreader bar so that he is completely exposed and vulnerable to Wesker’s every whim. Chris initially seems to be oblivious to his surroundings, but eventually realizes his precarious position and starts to fidget and whimper, no doubt wanting to claw at the bindings. Fortunately, the mitts keep his hands trapped and prevent him from gouging his fingernails into his palms, as he is wont to do. Wesker almost wants to add a blindfold to enhance the stimulation that will soon occur. Chris always becomes frightened but so delightfully sensitive when deprived of his sight.

“You seem quite upset,” Wesker muses as he rubs along Chris’s legs, kept wide apart by the spreader bar. The muscles bulge under the skin as Chris fights to close his legs. “You brought this punishment onto yourself. You conspired to run away with the two B.S.A.A. simpletons, endangered yourself recklessly,  _ and  _ lost me my son in the process. Loyalty is your strong suit, but you always waste it on the  _ wrong  _ people.” 

Chris’s eyes flash with anger at the accusation. Starting to get riled up again, the younger man starts another bout of wilful struggling. To nip the agitation in the bud, he pulls down painfully on Chris’s balls, causing Chris to freeze in fear. 

“It was my mistake to have left you to your own devices for so many years, which explains your impetuous tendencies. However, your recent bad choices are entirely your own responsibility, as are the consequences you caused to yourself and others. Then again, you must already be aware of that…”

Stricken by his words, Chris deflates and stops struggling altogether. He pushes on the base of the plug to make sure it is as deep as it will go, then presses down firmly on Chris’s lower abdomen, causing a dry sob from his captive. 

“This is filling you up nicely. Should I be jealous? I could give you a proper milking, but you seem to want this more.” 

More pained sobs come as he thrusts the plug in and out while continuing to press on Chris’s abdomen. 

When he has played enough, he pulls out the plug in one smooth motion. Chris bows his back at the sudden loss, hole swollen and gaping for Wesker to do whatever he wishes. He will have to play with it later.

He scratches his fingertips up Chris’s inner thighs, planning out where to leave marks to demonstrate his possession of the younger man. Chris’s legs quiver as he nips and pinches hard enough to bruise. For the final part of the punishment, he retrieves a thin switch, the one he used back at the destroyed facility. He also plans to put another physical reminder of his claim on Chris, now that the neck scars are partially obscured by the collar. He wants a scar in a more intimate location where only he and Chris can see. 

He lightly taps the switch at the junction between hip and thigh, causing Chris to flinch in fear at being hit in such a sensitive area. As Chris tries uselessly to bring his hands down to shield himself, Wesker works the switch ruthlessly up the inner thighs, starting at the knees and ending at the base of the cock cage, then resumes the whipping in the other direction. An intermittent scratchy noise comes from Chris’s throat as the blows rain down. He targets the switch up and down each leg, until both thighs are covered in red, hot welts. Wanting to try something new, he taps the switch against Chris’s balls, which causes Chris to tug at the restraints frantically. He had taken off the weight when he moved Chris, and now there are so many potential ways to proceed. He spends some time massaging Chris’s balls to increase their sensitivity. The younger man tries to turn his hips away, in discomfort from the heavy-handed treatment. However, his cock is flushed and fighting to reach full erection inside the cage. 

“My, Chris, you are so needy no matter what I do,” he mocks, flicking the switch at the abused balls. A welt appears immediately on the delicate skin. Chris screams hoarsely, the sounds weak and high pitched. He alternates between painful strikes and a gentle teasing of the trapped cock and balls with the switch, bringing Chris to near panic in anticipation of the pain. He focuses on whipping the calves next, and continues to occasionally target the balls and the much abused hole, just to keep Chris fully stimulated. The younger man makes a continuous keening sound, begging for the pain to end, but is completely ignored. He will punish Chris for as long as he deems necessary.

Some time later, Chris gives up on trying to beg, choosing instead to gnaw and worry at the gag between his teeth as the whipping continues. Chris’s eyes are glazed over, growing steadily more distant. He lightly slaps Chris awake, preventing Chris from retreating into his own mind.

Once Chris’s lower half is sufficiently covered in welts, Wesker checks a discreet corner of the room for the custom-made branding iron, which has been heating for the past few hours, unbeknownst to his captive. The symbol, a “W” at the center of a star, is glowing hot and ready for use. 

“Since you’re so needy, I’ll do one last thing to finish your punishment, then let you rest,” he tells Chris, who is gullible enough to look relieved. He eagerly retrieves the brand. Stroking Chris’s leg with one hand, he holds out the brand for Chris to see, which immediately prompts a furious struggle and a string of unintelligible pleading from behind the gag. Torn on where to best place the brand, he holds the brand over Chris’s heart, then the pubic bone, and finally the right thigh to help visualize how things will look. Chris blanches to a deathly pale, like he is about to pass out. Quite a hysterical response when he has yet to even apply the brand.

“A permanent reminder to help you remember who you belong to, Chris,” he growls before pressing the brand onto its intended target, the right inner thigh, just high enough so that it wouldn’t scrape against the other leg, but also visible anytime Chris looks down. As the flesh sizzles, Chris opens his mouth in a silent scream, kicking and bucking against the restraints hard enough to bruise. He holds Chris still to avoid ruining the mark. The hoarse screams soon turn into wailing and wheezing. By the time the brand is set aside, Chris is beside himself, tears running down his face.

“You’re  _ mine _ , Chris. Whatever stupid ideas you still have in your head, you  _ will  _ remember your lesson this time. I won’t be as generous in the future.” Chris shows no reaction and continues to cry and thrash frantically. He grabs a fistful of Chris’s hair and orders Chris to settle down, which only causes Chris to become more agitated, too insensible from pain and terror to follow commands. He tries a variety of touches next. However, neither pleasurable nor painful touches are effective in calming the agitation.

“If you continue to disobey, I will put you away and only take you out when I want to play with you,” he threatens, patience worn thin by Chris’s antics. The younger man must comprehend the words to some extent, because his fearful expression quickly morphs into despair, though different from what Wesker has seen before. The struggles taper off. Chris withdraws into himself and refuses to respond to any further stimuli, no matter how painful. Irked, Wesker presses two fingers against the freshly branded skin on Chris’s thigh, but even that fails to bring Chris out of catatonia. Starting to get worried, he cups his point man’s cheek, only to be met with unfocused, listless eyes. Increasingly concerned, he strokes a hand through Chris’s hair in order to coax out a response. Under his ministrations, the younger man gradually regains some coherence, though looks dispirited and wary.

“I promised that was the last of your punishment. It’s over now.” 

He removes the gag, then wipes Chris’s face clean of tears, sweat, and saliva. Continuing to appear utterly despondent, Chris remains nonverbal and unmoving. As he treats the brand with antiseptic, he preemptively strokes Chris’s flank, as if gentling a spooked animal, and is pleased to see some of the wary resistance seep away. After covering the brand with a neat square of bandage to protect the area from irritation, he carefully removes the cock cage. Chris looks miserable throughout the entire process and begins to tremble when the sounding rod is slowly pulled out, but otherwise stays still. As reinforcement for Chris to continue the cooperative behavior, he provides Chris with gentle touches aplenty, focusing on various sweet spots that he has discovered during their time together. Chris becomes mildly more engaged and makes brief eye contact, no doubt wanting the pleasurable physical stimulation to continue.

“We’ll have to work on a few things in the future, to help you not to make such a mistake again,” he says, savoring his point man’s submissive state. After a quick once-over to check for unnoticed injuries, he takes off the restraints and brings Chris to bed. Chris limps after him obediently. Propping Chris up against his chest, he spends some time massaging the tension out of Chris’s overtaxed muscles. Chris melts into the touch and soon begins to hesitantly press into his hands, whining whenever a sore spot is not tended to. Eventually, Chris’s head falls back in exhaustion to rest on his shoulder. He strokes a finger down the pale column of Chris’s throat and marvels at the open, vulnerable expression on the younger man’s face. Deeming the mitts to no longer be necessary, he removes them and massages Chris’s hands, much to Chris’s pleasure if the fluttering eyelids and needy mewls are any indication. He is looking forward to being able to lavish Chris with attention. Given how unabashedly receptive Chris is to his touch, the younger man’s defiance must be permanently broken. Food, rest, then a reward - it is time to start his point man’s rehabilitation.

=

Chris opens his mouth for the last bite of food, a hearty meat stew, even though he has no appetite. Wesker is feeding him in bed, which has never happened before. The change in routine unsettles him. He would rather be in the feeding chair, just to know what to expect. Being held in his Captain’s arms makes him want to relax, but he doesn’t dare. He still has to prove himself so that Wesker would keep him.

**You’re such a slut. He sure opened you wide.**

Too tired to keep the dark thoughts at bay, he barely stops himself from arguing back. The gentle touches and the soft bed only magnify his exhaustion. He rubs his eyes to try to stay awake, Wesker’s last threat replaying in his mind. If he disappoints his Captain again, he will be thrown away and left to rot. Everything is his own fault. He never should have tried to escape with the others. If he stayed behind, they wouldn't have gotten hurt. Piers, Finn, Jill... 

He quickly stops this train of thought. He can’t afford to get upset and earn another punishment. He can’t take any more. He has to be good. He failed last time, and-- _ Stop. No...  _ **Remember how you failed Finn. Remember how you couldn’t save Piers and how that virus twisted him. But they were far from the first ones you failed.**

The warm, comforting touches bring him out of the memories. He whimpers in confusion. Being touched by his Captain feels so good...even better than he remembers. He wants nothing but to lose himself in the pleasure, but some wary gut instinct keeps him guarded and on edge. Unable to figure out what to do, he claws at the bed sheets to try to get some sort of grounding. 

**When you fail yet again, he told you what would happen. He’ll find a nice little pit to throw you into. Maybe that cozy box from before, where you spent so much time.**

No... He likes things the way they are right now. He can’t go back to the pain and darkness! Increasingly distressed, he presses against Wesker’s hand in hope of some relief from these angry voices - so many people he’s let down. His Captain lets out a pleased hum and begins to stroke his hair. He leans eagerly into the touch, his mind finally starting to quiet. The quiet humming sound of his Captain’s presence fills his head like static. Continuing the soothing touches, Wesker kisses him on the forehead and lays him down in bed. This time, he doesn’t resist and is quickly claimed by sleep. 

He jerks awake to his leg hurting badly. He immediately looks for his Captain, who is reading a stack of files in another part of the room, mouth in a thin line of displeasure. Shaking in fear, he tries to sit up despite the pain, in case he did something wrong. He almost cries out in terror when Wesker approaches him, and is surprised when Wesker begins to stroke his hair. Soon, he feels warm and content again, though a deep sense of guilt begins to build. The Captain has more important work to do than caring for a failure like him. 

“Not quite tired enough,” Wesker says, absentmindedly checking the bandage on his thigh. He tries to act as relaxed as possible, worried about what will happen if he is not good. He has to obey. If he doesn’t, he would end up in pain again. The warmth would be gone...

Wesker pulls away and starts to take off his clothes. Chris stares, transfixed by the expanse of pale skin being revealed. Wesker sits back down next to him, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. Unsure what he is expected to do next, he stays still until he is touched again, which causes him to press needily against his Captain. Wesker’s hands slowly roam over his body before settling at the base of his cock. He shudders, afraid of any pain, though is reassured when the touches continue to feel good. As his Captain’s hand pumps up and down at a steady pace, he moans at the feeling of his cock being stroked to fullness after being trapped for so long. Despite the pain in his leg, he bucks desperately into Wesker’s hand, the pleasure nearly too overwhelming to process. 

His Captain moves to lay on top of him, stopping him from moving. It is a type of restraint, but the weight of Wesker’s body and the much-increased skin contact make him feel good...safe. His Captain must like this too, judging by the erection straining against the confines of the underwear. He pushes experimentally against his Captain a few times to assure himself of the comforting presence, then stays still. 

Wesker leans in and kisses along his face and neck, then captures his mouth in a kiss. He opens his mouth to allow Wesker’s tongue to explore freely. Trying to anticipate what his Captain will want next, he tugs tentatively at the waistband of Wesker’s underwear. Wesker breaks the kiss, eyes flashing in interest.

“Oh, do you need something, Chris?” Wesker says with a teasing smirk, stripping off the boxer briefs and freeing the erection within, then sits down with an expectant expression. He wants to please his Captain. If he is good, if he tries his best, maybe he can… He hasn’t done this before without being forced, but if it is what his Captain wants…

“I…” he tries, voice cracking. He looks away, unable to say the words out loud. What if he says the wrong thing? Would he be giving up on Jill and the others if he begs?  **He has taken your sloppy hole how many times? And now you’re a blushing virgin? Take his cock however he wants. It’s not like you get a say.**

His Captain reaches over to stroke his hair, dispelling the voice all but instantly. Ignoring the pain in his thigh, he crawls between his Captain’s parted legs. If he does this right, maybe the Captain will be happy, and--

A warm hand rests on the back of his neck as he moves into position. Needing no further encouragement, he lowers himself down and takes the tip of Wesker’s cock into his mouth. This must be the right move, because the Captain’s hand shifts to cup the back of his head. He licks a hesitant stripe up the shaft. It’s too big. He can’t take the whole thing.  **He made it go all the way down your throat plenty of times before** . Holding onto Wesker’s thighs for balance, he slowly tries to take the throbbing cock into his mouth, but has to stop before he is even halfway down. 

“Very good, just like that,” the Captain praises despite his lackluster performance. Blushing, he sneaks a glance up at his Captain, who lets out an approving hum as he bobs his head up and down. “Yes, like that, slowly now.” 

Between the warm hand on his head and the encouraging words, he finds a rhythm easily. He never quite manages to take more than half of Wesker’s length, though he tries to make it good by moving his tongue against the underside and using his hand to stroke what he can’t reach with his mouth. Maybe his efforts are passable, because his Captain’s hand remains on his head and at times grips his hair.

Eventually, he has to pull away when the strain on his jaw gets to be too much. After the two gags earlier, his jaw is still aching. Whimpering in dismay that his Captain has yet to come, he lowers his mouth back onto Wesker’s cock and tries to take in more of it, only to choke. His Captain seems to quickly realize what is going on and helps him sit up. Dejected about the failure, he keeps his eyes averted as Wesker massages his jaw to soothe the worst of the ache. 

“Excellent work, Chris. Now, lay back and enjoy your reward,” his Captain says, sounding very satisfied for some reason. He can’t understand why.

He is laid down on the bed, legs spread apart. Wesker gives him a few firm strokes before licking at the sensitive underside of his cock. He gasps in pleasure, trying to stop his hips from bucking. He has never felt so good before. Is this what a reward is like? His toes curl helplessly as he is engulfed in the wet warmth of Wesker’s mouth. An insistent tongue circles the head of his cock, tracing along the flared circumference. Moaning at the incredible sensations, he has to grip the bed sheets to keep himself from reaching where he shouldn’t.

“C-captain...I’m...I…” he begs as pleasure coils deep in his belly. Wesker hums around him in amusement, which immediately tips him over the edge. He cries out as he comes hard, his body consumed by waves of pleasure for what seems like an eternity. The Captain strokes him through his orgasm, making him scream and convulse as the pleasure becomes nearly overwhelming. By the time it ends, he is boneless and shaking from the aftershocks, his mind wiped clean of thoughts. When awareness returns, there is a soothing caress over his abdomen and thighs. He belatedly notices that his Captain has not come. 

He gets another chance when Wesker lays down next to him and turns him so that they are face to face. His hand is guided downwards to Wesker’s groin. He immediately wraps his hand around the erect cock and begins to stroke. His Captain kisses him deeply while touching his neck and chest. Wanting more skin contact, he presses their bodies closer together and buries his face in the crook of his Captain’s neck. The Captain murmurs praises into his ear, occasionally nipping at his earlobe. He trembles, senses fully occupied by pleasure, warmth, and the undeserved praise. He doesn’t even realize when his Captain comes, not until he hears a groan and feels something wet on his hand. 

They lay together on the bed for a while, then Wesker leaves and returns with a towel, which is used to cleans the both of them. Between the orgasm, the soft bed, and the tingling warmth he feels all over his body, he finds himself drifting off. He clutches more tightly at his Captain, just in case he is left alone again.

“Rest now, Chris.” Wesker indulges him with another kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

The promise...threat...fact...rings in his ears as he falls asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris recovers from the punishment and has a nightmare. Wesker begins to think over some interesting reactions that his Pointman has had.

Wesker tidies up the room, careful not to wake Chris, who is only able to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep  _ at best  _ before another nightmare claws itself into him to make him toss and turn. Now that the punishment is over, he will ensure Chris understands that it could have all been avoided. If Chris remains obedient, punishments of such magnitude need not occur again. Given the younger man’s strong-willed nature, correction for minor misbehaviors will undoubtedly be required. However, those from the B.S.A.A who wishes to keep Chris to themselves are to blame for motivating the worst of the rebellion and backslides.

He considers a few of his recent observations. Chris is now quite receptive to being pleasured. Between the eager moans, needy looks, and the ecstatic reactions, all signs indicate that Chris is far more sensitive to his touch than ever before. The reactions are especially prominent when he is in a good mood. Perhaps the virus has made Chris more sensitive to his emotional state, further strengthening the connection between the two of them. Whatever the reason for the change, pleasure is a powerful tool for conditioning. He plans to incorporate that into Chris’s future training more frequently, now that Chris no longer tries to fight against pleasurable stimulation. 

Despite his cautious optimism about the future, it is entirely possible that Chris will act up again. Chris’s misplaced loyalties remain. The earliest attempts to hide Clay’s actions were the first sign of the problem, a deep, insidious weed that he should have uprooted long ago. It also remains unclear if Clay is the one who planted the seed, or simply an opportunist who nurtured the nuisance. The B.S.A.A. has also taken advantage of Chris’s loyalty for its own purposes.

Well, no longer. With Jill out of the way, no one at the B.S.A.A. will deem it worthwhile to search for Chris, who should have no reason to leave unless he is tempted away by Claire or someone else he perceives to be important. The number of people on that list has dwindled. The remaining distractions can be countered by keeping Chris occupied with more productive endeavors. It will not be anytime soon, but he may eventually acquire Claire as a reward for Chris, once Chris’s training is complete. He has witnessed what Claire is capable of despite not having any formal training beyond what Chris taught her, a further testament to how capable Chris is. 

Chris stirs, disturbed by a nightmare, though his cock is also starting to harden. Something must be crossed wrong in Chris’s mind to cause such a paradoxical reaction, which is no surprise given Chris’s history. He runs a hand over the shaking body. His point man calms briefly, but not as much as he would like. He debates the best approach to put Chris back to sleep. He has never tried it before, but perhaps some additional pleasurable stimulation will be the most effective method now that Chris is so receptive.

He spreads Chris’s legs, careful to not touch the bandage over the healing brand, which has remained undisturbed despite their earlier fun. Chris kicks weakly, but stops after a few light strokes to his thighs. Wesker gently rolls the still-sore balls in his hand while tracing the fluttering hole with lubed fingers, and is rewarded by needy sighs and Chris’s legs parting wider to welcome his touch. As he works his fingers in, Chris clenches eagerly against the probing digits, especially when he finds the prostate and begins to massage it with two fingers. Chris’s eyes flutter open, though they drift closed a moment later. Shaking his head back and forth as if in defiance of something, Chris keens as his cock jumps to attention. Smirking at the shallow gasps of pleasure, Wesker continues to finger Chris open until the younger man cries out on the verge of completion. He quickly stops the stimulation to cool things down. After that, Chris falls into a deep sleep, eyelids fluttering as he dreams. 

He slicks his cock with lube and settles between Chris’s parted legs, tilting Chris’s hips up for better access. It would be most ideal to have Chris awake and aware for this, but honestly he has waited long enough. He would rather sink into his dear Chris now. An orgasm or two from being properly claimed will surely make Chris’s dreams better. 

=

_ He is laid out on a desk being fucked by Clay, completely exposed for everyone to see. Something cradles his head as he tries unsuccessfully to move his arms and legs. Jill and Barry look at him in utter disgust before turning away. He struggles and screams, unable to bear this pain and humiliation. He can’t do this… He belongs to... _

_ Wesker turns him over, and everyone is gone, leaving just the two of them. He still tries to get away, afraid of what will happen. He betrayed his Captain, he…. _

**What are you doing, you slut?** _ A calloused hand slaps him across the face. Clay grabs at him again. Black tentacles swarm him. A thick one strangles him by the neck. Another forces its way into his mouth and down his throat. He tears and bites at the tentacles, but he can’t escape, can’t fight back.  _

_ “Take it! Take it for everyone you failed!” Piers sneers, the twisted remains of his right arm raised threateningly. He chokes on a sob, but…. _

Wesker is slowly inserting two fingers into him _ and stroking him at the same time. The lustful smirk is the same as he remembers. His Captain wraps him in a warm embrace, and it’s just the two of them again. He moans in relief, glad that the people tormenting him are gone.  _

_ A sudden pain in his thigh makes him remember the brand, hot and searing into his flesh. Gasping, he thrashes and kicks, anything to make it stop. He vaguely hears Wesker’s voice, low and calming. He tries to reject it, but his body only wants to be held, to have pleasure instead of pain. The part of him that  _ wants _ to protest and fight gradually fades away under the gentle touches. Maybe he can rest a little if his Captain is taking care of him...  _

“My wonderful point man, so good for me...”

_ Insistent fingers prod and massage the hypersensitive spot inside him. Wesker’s fist continues to corkscrew up and down the shaft of his cock. Everything feels so good. The pleasure builds inside him, being stoked into a blazing inferno.  _

_ He briefly feels other people try to grab him, but the Captain keeps him safe. He must be imagining things, but the Captain’s blue eyes glint red in a strange way.  _

_ He is suddenly in a cold, harsh wasteland. He has to find Claire. She is in danger. Instead, he finds Wesker, who is seething at him in rage. He must have done something wrong, he was bad, he is sorry, he won’t do it again… Wait, no, Wesker is the one who betrayed them and died, but turns out to be actually alive. What reason does Wesker have to be angry? He needs to get past Wesker, find Claire, and leave this island.  _

_ They fight. He pulls his punches because he doesn’t want to hurt his Captain, and ends up trapped in a corner and knocked around like a plaything. Growing desperate, he tries to escape, but someone holds him down. _

“Shhh, my sweet, _ ” Wesker whispers, pupils dilated and yellow seeping into the iris. His Captain grinds their hips together, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his core. A nagging sense of danger makes him want to struggle and resist, but...why? He is with his Captain, who cares about him and will protect him. His Captain is making him feel good. He is safe. _

_ He relaxes, giving himself completely over to the pleasure. _

=

Wesker moves from between Chris’s legs, running a possessive hand over the body underneath him. Sated and relaxed, he wants nothing more than to lay in bed with Chris, but there is some data analysis from his research that must be finished before Chris wakes. He cleans himself, then his point man, who remains dead to the world. Feeling generous, he covers Chris with a blanket, and watches Chris snuggle into it. As he finishes up the work and plans out the next few days, he wonders if Chris has finally accepted the fact of who he belongs to. Things would be much easier for Chris if that were the case.

He sets aside food and clothing for his point man. Though a weapon may encourage further rebellion, he still plans to give Chris one to use on the mercenaries who have outlived their usefulness. It is a pity how difficult it is to get competent help these days. 

A good few hours pass before there is any movement from his point man. Chris wakes slowly this time, appearing well-rested and free of nightmares. When he approaches, Chris carefully watches his every move, though relaxes at the sight of the food and drink being placed on the nearby table. He hands Chris the orange juice, reserving the coffee for himself, and has to hold back a chuckle when Chris frowns petulantly at being denied the coffee. Even with the virus and its advantages, coffee is still coffee. Perhaps it can be a reward later on, after the sleep problems resolve.

Chris takes a few sips of the juice, looking satisfied with the taste, and tries to chug it down. He has to take the glass from Chris. “Not too much at once, not until you’ve had more time to recover.”

Setting the orange juice aside for now, he examines Chris closely to make sure the injuries are healing appropriately. The welts and bruises have healed, not a single mark left behind. The brand is scarring nicely. Upon seeing the reminder of his final punishment, Chris turns away and begins to squirm fearfully, though is able to calm with a few gentle touches. Deeming Chris to be ready for slightly more freedom than before, he moves Chris to a large bath in the attached bathroom, allowing Chris to wash himself with occasional supervision. When Chris is done, he dries Chris with a soft towel and puts a new bandage over the healing brand. 

“...clothes?” Chris asks, looking almost intimidated by the pile of clothes laid out on the bed. As much as he loves having Chris naked, the temperature and his upcoming plans require Chris to be clothed outside of this room. 

“It’s far too cold outside, and the punishment for your disobedience is over.” Chris seems distrustful of the reasoning. Understandable, especially when he has nearly always kept Chris naked around him. “I have various projects that I must attend to elsewhere in this facility. You will be accompanying me from now on. I would hate for you to be cold.” 

Chris blushes at this, this time more from shyness than fear. It is enough to solidify his decision to have Chris dispose of the mercenaries as soon as possible. Chris’s combat abilities are always a pleasure to behold. 

Chris hesitantly puts on the clothes. Every item is black - shirt, pants, boots. There is also a black jacket for warmth, to be worn once they leave this room. He places a hand between Chris’s shoulder blades and guides Chris to sit at the table where the food is. Chris fidgets in the chair and tugs at the clothing incessantly, looking increasingly anxious and overstimulated. Wesker observes for a minute or two to see if Chris will ask for help, but Chris is unable to verbalize his needs.

“Would you feel better with your arms restrained?” he asks, already aware that it will help calm Chris. The idea of feeding Chris is delightful, especially if Chris is as receptive as yesterday.

Chris nods minutely, almost sullen at the admission, then puts his hands behind his back without being prompted. Wesker applies the padded wrist restraints, leaving plenty of slack for Chris to be comfortable. Chris calms quickly with this intervention and soon begins to show interest in the food. He runs his fingers through Chris’s dark hair, smiling as Chris relaxes even more. 

He feeds Chris the simple meal of scrambled eggs and buttered toast. The younger man eagerly accepts the food, looking at him expectantly whenever the next bite is not presented quickly enough. The meal is nothing grand, but should provide enough sustenance without taxing Chris’s stomach. 

Once the food is gone, he undoes the restraints and allows Chris the rest of the orange juice, having kept it cool in a bucket of ice. It pleases him to see Chris’s grateful expression. He should have indulged Chris more often when they were in S.T.A.R.S., but no matter. He has plenty of opportunities now. With the lack of any immediate threats, he can afford to spoil Chris a little.

“We don’t have much to do today, but there should be enough to get you familiar with our routine. Keeping you with me is better in the long run for you.” His smile morphs into a smirk when Chris mulls over his words. “The punishment is done, and I doubt you’d enjoy staying in this room alone. Plus, I want to keep a closer eye on your recovery.” 

Chris is quiet and keeps his eyes averted, but Wesker does not press for an answer. Giving Chris some slack on his leash would show him how much more pleasant things can be if he behaves. The carrot over the stick for now.

He debates on putting a leash on his lovely point man. Given the younger man’s long history of impulsive behavior, it is inevitable that Chris will stray. The mercenaries are also untrustworthy around Chris, not that they are any threat in Chris’s current state. They will be disposed of soon enough. 

He settles on carrying the leash on his person, just in case. The metal collar rests above the neckline of the black shirt, easily accessible. He reminds Chris to put on the jacket. The black outfit contrasts starkly with Chris’s pale skin, giving Chris a dangerous, imposing appearance. He can already envision the future training that they can do to maximize Chris’s full potential.

“Let’s go.” Chris falls into step behind him. “Stay close to me, or I will use the leash. Anything else will earn you another punishment. For now, I’ll trust you to follow and not cause any trouble, but it is not a blind trust. Understand?”

Chris looks down at his feet like a worried child, before he nods.

“Good boy.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris tries to be good, but he's still not able to meet Wesker's standards in some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lullite is awesome and helps me figure things out. I hope you all enjoy the next few chapters.

_ January 5, 2011 _

The threat of a leash makes Chris follow closely after Wesker, though he still does his best to memorize the layout of the hallways that they pass through. Hopefully, he will eventually earn enough freedom to explore on his own. With food in his stomach and the assurance that he won’t be punished unless he disobeys, he feels much better. He can be good. He has to be. Trying to escape again will only hurt others...and himself when he is caught.

The first room they enter looks like a room for research, full of scientific equipment and computers. He discreetly checks the room to make sure it is safe, and is relieved to see nothing that can be used to hurt him. 

“Sit down and look through these. I’d like your opinion.” The Captain motions to a stack of papers, then starts to work at one of the computers.

He wonders if this is a test, but the chance to have something to do and be useful is too good to pass up. The papers are on B.O.W.s he encountered several years ago, the t-Veronica kind from the island that Claire was kidnapped to. The notes on these monstrosities are hard to read, considering how much danger Claire was in because of them. Alexia had been particularly hateful, attacking not just Claire, but also the Captain. These B.O.W.s are now extinct. He guesses that without a steady supply of t-Veronica virus, not to mention its inherent instability, nobody has bothered to use it to make more B.O.W.s. 

His Captain seems to be wrapping up, so he makes sure to look busy, re-reading a few of the files in case he missed something. When Wesker rests a hand between his shoulders, he quickly presses closer, hoping for more touches.

“You were quite attentive to your task.”

“It’s what attacked Claire...what the Ashfords made.”

His Captain hums in agreement, stroking his back absentmindedly. “Alexia was her own brand of strange. Had I known of their plans, I would have stopped them from taking Claire. In the end, it only hastened their own demise. You and Claire were quite the duo. If things had turned out differently back then…” 

He flinches away violently from Wesker’s hand. Heart pounding in terror, he flees to an empty part of the lab where he can’t be cornered. If Claire is taken, she will probably suffer a far worse fate than Jill! He breaks out in a cold sweat at the mere thought of Claire being tortured and experimented on. To make matters worse, how can he possibly let her see him now that he has given into Wesker’s touch, has started thinking of Wesker as  _ Captain  _ again… No... He would rather die than to have any of this happen...

“I’m perfectly happy with the Redfield I already have, Chris,” Wesker says, no longer in as good of a mood as before but showing no other reaction to his outburst. The lack of reaction unnerves him further. Was this a trick all along to provoke him into acting out? What will happen to him now that he has fallen for it? It’s not fair… He was doing so well… 

The fear of punishment creeps back and becomes overwhelming. He has to make Wesker happy again! Taking a few slow breaths to calm down, he shakenly returns to Wesker’s side. When no pain comes, he tries to find another topic to distract Wesker. “So… N-no t-Veronica virus?”

Talk of the virus seems to work. “If it were further studied, perhaps some element of its genome would have been useful to stabilize Uroboros. Either way, t-Veronica died with Alexia, which is for the best. We have enough to play with as is.” 

The warmth partially returns. Wesker thoroughly pets his head and shoulders like nothing had happened, though he remains on alert for any changes in Wesker’s mood. Wesker motions for him to follow and moves to another set of scientific equipment. More orders come, usually to retrieve a sample or tool. It allows him to move freely about the room, though who knows if it is another trick to see if he will try to escape. As if he will fall for it. He is nowhere near fast enough to outrun Wesker, and even if he did escape, where would he go?

Each time he brings the desired item to Wesker, he is praised for the mundane task, followed by warm caresses. Gradually seeing that it is not a trick, he starts to let down his guard.  **You are his dog. You’ve always been someone’s dog. You’ll never amount to anything more. He will never keep you.**

Wanting the accusatory voices to go away, he leans against his Captain, who seems surprised by the sudden affection but pulls him closer and rewards him with more touches all the same. 

“What is it, Chris?”

**Go ahead, tell him. Tell him about what you did to make your family throw you out, you disgusting excuse of a—**

He instinctively hides his face in the crook of Wesker’s shoulder, making sure to press against the bare skin of Wesker’s neck.

“Chris?”

“Why me? I’m not interesting…” he blurts out without thinking. The palm of the Captain’s hand presses against his forehead, like he is being checked for a fever. He closes his eyes. With the lack of new pain and complete silence, he can’t tell if the Captain is waiting for more information. He suddenly realizes that he should never have said anything, because Wesker will definitely use it against him. Even Jill barely knows what happened. Claire probably has some idea, but he isn’t sure how much she witnessed. 

“I disagree. You’ve always fascinated me in many ways and frustrated me in others.”  **He can read you like an open book. He can get you ready to go and begging for mercy with a word.** “You clearly have more to say. Continue.” 

He opens his mouth to say more, before realizing that he has to stay quiet. As the warmth ebbs away, he begins to panic. Maybe if he tells Wesker a little more, that will bring back the warmth? No… That is a pipe dream. There is no way he can tell Wesker about how much of a failure he has been since the very beginning. Claire left home of her own accord, but him? He was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on his back, then ended up under Clay’s thumb, utterly humiliated. He had no future, no prospects until Wesker gave him a purpose in S.T.A.R.S.. Wesker can never find out, or he will definitely be thrown away.

Pulling away from Wesker’s reach, he tries to deflect. “Nothing. I’m...just not good enough...”

“I’m not sure what gave you that impression, though I suppose I may be partially responsible.” 

“No,” he quickly replies, not daring to accuse Wesker of anything. Wesker has pointed out his failings plenty of times lately, but never during S.T.A.R.S.. Back then, Wesker had been downright protective of him, except it was all an act, one that he was too gullible and blind to see through. 

Wesker tilts his chin up, forcing eye contact. Even though Wesker still appears calm, with no pain from the touch to indicate otherwise, he almost backs away, stopped only by the consequences of upsetting Wesker further. That will just bring more pain, more humiliation.

“I’m glad to hear it. Still, I do want to know more about what is on your mind.”

“N-nothing...” he protests weakly as Wesker’s hold on his jaw changes from fingertips to a ruthless grip. A small spark of pain makes him wish he never opened his mouth. He only has himself to blame. 

There is a knock at the door. Eyes flashing red in annoyance, Wesker lets go of him and turns to the door. “What?”

A mercenary enters, says something in Russian, and presents a printout to Wesker. A chill runs down his spine at the sight of the mercenary, whom he immediately recognizes. The man is one of the four who took great enjoyment in beating him before putting him into that damned box. 

Wesker reads through the printout, occasionally talking with the mercenary in Russian. Chris only understands a few words at most, not enough to follow the conversation.

The mercenary throws a smug glance in his direction. Fists clenched in rage, he glares daggers at the mercenary, who returns it with a confident smirk. If Wesker notices, he says nothing for the moment, too busy reading through the printout. 

“Anything else?” Wesker says, disinterest apparent. The mercenary mentions something about reinforcements, then something about the B.S.A.A.. Wesker’s answers are curt, even in Russian. Despite wanting to listen in more closely, Chris finds himself getting too frustrated at the mercenary to be able to concentrate. He has to look away to try to calm down. 

The mercenary speaks a few final words to Wesker. He does his best to not give the mercenary any attention, but it means that his mind begins to wander into dangerous territory - Jill. Even if he gets enough freedom to make it to the ruins of that other facility, how long will the trip take? What if Wesker catches him before he makes it there? What if the B.S.A.A. hasn’t found her body? Would that mean she could still be alive? Would that mean she could come to save him?

_ He killed them all. Because they came after me, Wesker killed them. _

The last time Jill had come after him, she nearly died while he stood idly by.  **You whored yourself out both times. You must have cared so much about her, you let him fuck you while she--** He takes in a deep breath to ground himself. The mercenary looks him over calculatingly, probably fantasizing about ganging up on him a second time.

“How long will he be kept? The longer we keep him, the more likely they come,” the mercenary says purposefully in English.

Wesker makes a dismissive noise while looking at a computer screen. “I have a handle on the B.S.A.A.. If you’re done with your report, I have other matters to attend to.”

The mercenary leaves, brushing past him aggressively while Wesker is tinkering with some equipment. He barely holds himself back from lashing out.

“Upset about something?” Wesker asks once the mercenary is out of earshot.

“No…” he lies, still seething at what the mercenaries did to him, even though Wesker probably planned for it to happen all along. Either way, he wants nothing but to rip that mercenary apart.

“I see. You must have recovered enough to get back into old habits.” Wesker types away on the computer, though there is a dangerous glint in his eyes. Chris looks away in resignation. A punishment must be coming and it is too late for him to stop it. At this point, he has no way out. Where else could he go? Back to the B.S.A.A. to be locked away for life by Affini, without Jill or anyone else to help? When so many people could get caught in the crossfire when Wesker comes after him yet again?

“The ones you like?” he grounds out spitefully before he can control himself. Everything falls into an ominous silence when Wesker’s typing stops. “I won’t leave… I know what will happen…” he tries to appease, backing away slowly in fear of being struck. Wesker’s fingers drum threateningly on the desk. He is hyper aware of every sound, even the soft ringing coming from Wesker. Lately, the sound has usually blended easily into the background like white noise. Maybe his brain is noticing it less because he is always around Wesker now. 

He startles when the chair scrapes across the floor. Narrowing the distance between them in a few steps, Wesker yanks his head up by the hair. “You always did have a bad habit of running your mouth when you shouldn’t. I’ve had to cover for you since the S.T.A.R.S. days.” 

He swallows down a whimper. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll stay…” What’s out there for him anyway?

_ Claire _ , his rebellious side whispers,  _ the rest of S.T.A.R.S. and the B.S.A.A.. Freedom.  _ **_Like Affini will let me out of a cage. At least with Captain, I’m…_ **

“It does not change the fact that whenever you are upset at someone, you make a mess of it. I should let you clean up your own mess this time.” He blinks in confusion as Wesker shoots him a dangerous smirk. “You and those three mercenaries are obviously not going to get along, so perhaps we should test out your skills.” 

Wesker pulls out a knife and makes a show of examining it. Chris stares at the knife. It is his S.T.A.R.S. knife, the one Jill brought when she came to rescue him… She told him that it was lost in Africa, after they fought Wesker on the plane. He didn’t expect Wesker to find and hold onto it. Seeing it here, the only link to a time when he was wanted and useful…. 

“Kill them, and I’ll give you this.” Wesker holds up the knife. “Lose, and as long as they don’t cause any permanent damage, the mercenaries can have their fun.” Wesker releases him, voice tinged with disgust.

He remains fixated on the knife. His Captain used to trust him so much… Now that he failed, he isn’t even going to be allowed a weapon without winning a death match first. Unless Wesker just wants to show off? He doesn’t know what to feel about being forced to demonstrate Wesker’s complete control over him...  **_Captain’s faithful point man..._ ** **More like his attack dog, to be kicked aside and cast out the moment it becomes useless** . He shakes his head in denial, but the knife is all he has of when he was trusted, when he had somewhere to belong...

“I’ll set up the game, but in the meantime, you will have to do training. You will not be permitted to stay with me until you show me results. Consider this a warning. The next time you purposely withhold information, you will be punished.” 

He is filled with a terrible sinking feeling. It’s only been a few hours of good treatment and being at his Captain’s side, and he has already messed up. Now, he will be locked away, unless he kills the mercenaries like his Captain wants.

The stern look remains as Wesker takes out the leash. “Now, if you’re a good boy and do what you’re told from now on, I may forgive you for what you’ve withheld from me thus far.”

=

During the short walk to their destination, Chris is quiet and sullen, obviously indignant about the mercenary and being put back on the leash. Wesker is almost tempted to take Chris by the mercenaries again, just to see if Chris can be goaded into a reaction. However, there is no need to give the mercenaries any hint of what is to come. He wants it to be a surprise. 

He brings Chris to one of the rooms that has been repurposed by the mercenaries as an exercise room. This room is an enclosed space that takes up the space of two floors, with observation windows on upper levels. It was previously used to run tests on the capabilities of B.O.W.s and infected humans. 

He takes off the leash to allow Chris to explore the room. “I have supplied this room with water, towels, and clothing. You have two days to train. I will retrieve you for sleep, but beyond that, anything else you need will be brought here. I have more important things to do than to watch over your every move.” 

Chris looks genuinely hurt, the wary expression returning. As much as he wants to reassure Chris, he holds back. Chris needs to be taught a lesson on the consequences of keeping secrets from him. 

He points to the intercom near the wall as a consolation. “Use this if you want to communicate with me, though you better not use this privilege frivolously. I won’t tolerate you being excessively needy.”

Chris looks even more hurt and angry. Wesker ignores it and leaves the room, making sure the door is locked. He returns to the laboratory, planning to get some lab work done. In case Chris is scheming something, he checks on Chris using the hidden cameras built into the room. He need not have worried. The younger man is still standing in the same spot as before and looking morosely at the door, the idea of working out obviously the last thing on his mind. Eventually, Chris begins to tremble from anxiety, eyes flitting about the room in search of something, though manages to pull himself together after a few minutes.

He had originally intended to give Chris the knife as a reward in a day or two for good behavior, until Chris attempted to be secretive. Now, Chris will have to earn the right to have it back. It is unfathomable why Chris would rather tell secrets to Jill and other questionable individuals. Though it sounds like Chris told Jill about Clay right before the Arklay incident. If the idiots at Arklay had not released the virus and disturbed the peace ahead of schedule, he likely would have learned the full account from Chris. The incompetence of Umbrella makes him grit his teeth in rage. He should have left that useless excuse of an organization much earlier.

Chris is now changing into the exercise wear. He takes some time to appreciate the marks on his point man. The scars at the junction of Chris’s neck and shoulder peek out from under the collar, quite an appealing sight. The brand remains covered, but he plans to remove the bandage later today. 

While observing Chris, he makes preparations to run a number of assays on the C-virus cure to see what areas can be further optimized. It will be a diverting distraction to see what Chris will do to prove himself. 

=

Unable to shake the feeling of being watched, Chris hesitantly changes into the shorts and T-shirt. He needs to win this high-stakes fight. If he loses, he will be given to the mercenaries, and they will definitely try to get revenge on him for killing multiple members of their group. Even if he wins, he is not sure if he will ever be trusted to stay by Wesker’s side again. He can only hope that he can earn a fraction of the trust back. What else can he do besides obeying Wesker’s orders and hoping that it works out?

He does a full survey of the exercise equipment, trying to focus on anything else but the bitter sense of betrayal at being left behind. He feels far more pitiful than ever before, abandoned and stuck in a room for “training.” Will Wesker really let him out of here if he wins? What if Wesker is tired of him and is actually planning to have the mercenaries torture him like last time? 

He sits down on a bench in resignation, wanting to curl up and sob, but what would be the point? He has no choice but to win, even if it is a trick. Otherwise, he will be abused...cast aside... **useless…**

The sense of anxiety and restlessness peaks and becomes too much to bear. He jumps up from the bench and begins to jab and kick at the punching bag haphazardly, too distracted to put much power behind the hits. It doesn’t make him feel any better. Increasingly desperate, he tries to seek out Wesker’s presence. He breathes a sigh of relief when he senses the familiar dull hum, meaning that Wesker is somewhere close by. The reassurance that he is not being abandoned is like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He won’t be hurt by those bastards ever again. He will get the knife -  _ his knife _ \- back. Shaking loose the tension from his body, he wraps his hands and returns to the punching bag, taking a far more aggressive stance. Fortunately, the bag is tethered to the ground as well as to the ceiling, because his first strike causes the two tethers to stretch taut. He is surprised that the punishments didn’t permanently weaken him. Not that it matters. No matter how strong he gets, he will never be able to beat Wesker. 

He throws another punch, gradually picking up a solid rhythm. He transitions smoothly into a fighting routine, focusing on hooks, uppercuts, and kicks. Over time, he puts more energy into the exercise, his fears and anxieties taking a backseat. For the next few hours, he alternates between running on the treadmill and pummeling the punching bag, not even needing a break. He feels almost like his old self. 

When he senses Wesker coming closer, he can’t help but look towards the door in anticipation. 

Wesker enters the room, nodding approvingly at the punching bag that is now far worse for wear. “You seem to have found a good pace.”

“Yes sir.” He immediately stands at attention, hoping that Wesker is no longer angry at him.

Wesker sets down a plate piled high with roasted meats and vegetables, as well as a small container of walnuts. “You need to eat. You have exerted yourself quite well.”

He nods, realizing how hungry he is. Watching Wesker’s reaction closely, he quickly approaches the food, tempted by the aroma. He has already messed up enough times today, and he is determined to not disappoint his Captain from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So due to the amount of characters in here, I started another story called Five Suns - which follows the five others before the mansion explodes. Will also answer some questions for you all. Have fun!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker begins to suspect more about Chris' hidden abilities, and Chris tries to work through his own issues.

Wesker watches Chris from the observation windows, which are tinted to prevent Chris from seeing him. The younger man is attacking the punching bag vigorously with no signs of tiring. Ever since being permitted food and sleep daily, Chris has made remarkable improvements in strength and stamina. The data recorded thus far is a testament to how strong Chris is. Before the virus fully took root, Chris was capable and resourceful, albeit just a normal human. Now, Chris can easily take on the most powerful B.O.W.. With the right motivation and training, perhaps Chris could even match him in a feat of strength in the future. The idea is almost...thrilling. However, Chris remains weaker than him in many respects. For one, Chris still needs as much food and sleep as a normal human for optimal function, and seems inclined to high-protein foods. Nor is Chris as durable and fast-healing as he is. Although the changes from the virus seem to have plateaued, he plans to monitor Chris on a long-term basis, in case the virus makes any further modifications to Chris’s physiology. 

When he arrives with a meal, Chris is well-behaved and answers diffidently when his form is commented on, by all appearances having learned his lesson. The younger man’s ravenous appetite is unabated. The food is quickly devoured. To make sure the lesson sticks, he leaves and heads back to the main laboratory, much to Chris’s dismay. It takes some effort on his part to walk away. As much as he wants to pamper Chris for the display of power, Chris needs to learn that any attempt to disobey or withhold information will be met with consequences. He will do this for as long as necessary until the lesson sinks in.

He works for a few hours in the laboratory before going back to watch Chris from the observation window. Chris is using some free weights, appearing far more shaken and distracted than previously. However, shortly after his arrival, Chris perks up and starts to perform better, as if noticing his presence. 

_ Interesting...how does he know that I’m nearby? Another effect of the virus, like the pleasure response? _

Perhaps this explains the pattern he recognized earlier. Since recovering from his illness, Chris has been downright affectionate and far more willing to seek out physical contact. When he was feeling disagreeable, touching Chris caused obvious fear and distress, even if he expressed limited outward signs of anger. These observations suggest that Chris is able to detect his emotional state through touch or another novel mechanism. He needs to conduct more tests to parse out the possibilities. After all, any reason to touch Chris is a good one.

Some of the fearful responses could be from other factors, such as his earlier threat to lock Chris away, although it does not explain the full extent of Chris’s behaviors. He has no qualms about ensuring that Chris is properly broken, but perhaps he should avoid using isolation as a punishment in the future, given that the mere threat of being locked away and abandoned had terrified Chris to the point of catatonia. It would be best to avoid any disabling psychological damage.

Looking back, Chris’s fear of abandonment has been present even before he joined S.T.A.R.S., just like the tendency for misplaced loyalty. It is all so obvious now. Chris befriended Barry early during their Air Force days and remained in contact even after they parted ways. Barry did privately admit that most of it was out of pity for how downtrodden Chris had been before he found his place in S.T.A.R.S.. Similarly, the moment that reliable friendships were granted by S.T.A.R.S., Chris’s attachment became immediately cemented. Back then, Wesker had also found Chris’s excessive tendency for attachments to be somewhat pitiful, but…

_ No, not pitiful… He just needs to be properly cared for and guided with a firm hand. If I had recognized it then, the abandonment issues would not have been left to fester. The problem of misplaced loyalty would have been swiftly corrected as well. _

If Spencer and Clay had not already died by his machinations, he would have given them a slow, painful death. How much time had he wasted on useless endeavors due to Spencer’s grandiosity? How much torment Chris did suffer at Clay’s hands?

Checking the time, he decides that Chris has trained enough for the day. It is time for a hands-on experiment to test whether his emotional state can be perceived by Chris through touch. He will find out the answer one way or another. 

=

The shower is cold. Wesker had taken him back to the bedroom and told him to get cleaned up. He doesn’t know what Wesker has in store for him next, but considering that he is still not forgiven, it is probably nothing less than a reprimand. He messed up and has to pay the price. 

While he is still standing under the cold shower, the soft ringing of Wesker’s presence dulls. Alarmed that he is being left behind, he rushes back into the room. His Captain is nowhere to be seen. Did Wesker get tired of waiting? Has he been such a disappointment that Wesker is going to leave him behind? 

**You think he is going to warn you before he tosses you aside like the trash you are?**

Shivering, he realizes he is dripping wet. He dries off and looks for his clothes and shoes, but they are gone, replaced by a shirt and sweatpants. He wonders why Wesker took away the other clothes. It must be another punishment for his back talking, like the cold water. 

**He isn’t interested in your body, and there’s not much of a mind left for him to play with.**

“Stop...” he whispers, not wanting to think about this right now. He pads barefoot across the cold floor and searches every corner of the room, which offers no comfort when all he can sense of his Captain is the barest of sounds.

**Wesker has given you far more than you deserve. You should be dead for your carelessness and all the people you killed.**

“Shut up!” he snaps. The turmoil in his head only gets louder, with no reprieve in sight. Increasingly frustrated, he pounds his fists repeatedly against the wall, not caring about the dents he is making. He loses himself in the motions, the pain in his knuckles numbing some of the misery he feels.

“Chris.” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin at Wesker’s voice. Wesker is standing behind him, holding a plate of steak and potatoes. Casually putting down the plate as if nothing has happened, Wesker motions for him to come closer. Desperate for relief, he thoughtlessly approaches, only to freeze for fear of being asked more questions. Wesker probably saw him hitting the wall and talking to himself like a basketcase. How would he even explain if Wesker started interrogating him? Realizing that his knuckles are bruised and bloody, he hides his hands behind his back.

“It is time for you to eat.”

He paces restlessly, unable to take his eyes off the food. The lunch earlier had been a big portion, but he is hungry again. Taking a seat at the table, he can’t decide whether to eat on his own. He almost hopes that Wesker would feed him, to give him a sign that he is going to be forgiven. When Wesker begins to touch him, he feels a light warmth, which means that Wesker is happy about..something. It worries him, but he still presses against his Captain and is rewarded by pleasure replacing the cold and anxiety he is trembling from. 

Wesker shoots him a knowing glance. “Do you want me to feed you?” 

He looks down, too ashamed to admit to how weak he is. Wesker tilts his head up with a finger under his chin. “You can answer truthfully, Chris.”

“I...I don’t...know...”

Wesker hums in amusement. “I see. Then for now, feed yourself.” The warm hand against his forehead tells him that his Captain is still happy, at least for now. He leans greedily into the touch, not caring if Wesker figures out why, until he has to reluctantly pull away at Wesker’s command to eat. He cuts off a small corner of steak. The moment the juices of the steak explode onto his tongue, all reservations fall by the wayside. He gorges himself on the food, nothing on his mind besides hunger. When the plate is almost empty, he suddenly remembers that Piers loved steak too. Swallowing thickly, he tries to finish the last few pieces of food, but everything tastes like ashes in his mouth. He barely manages to choke down another bite before he just...can’t. 

“What’s wrong?”

He clenches his teeth, not wanting to tell Wesker anything about Piers, but lying or not answering would get him punished… In the end, he spills the beans, too afraid of being subjected to the pain and cold again. 

“Someone…on my team really liked steak too…”

Wesker cups his cheek with a gentle hand. “It must be the one whom you so desperately pleaded for?”

He nods blearily, tears coming to his eyes at the thought of Piers, who had so much skill and potential. Piers and Merah both loved steak, and it was a running joke about who could eat more. The two of them got along so well and were around the same age. He could have sworn there was something more going on between them. Except, Merah shot Piers… She was a traitor all along… Unless she hit Piers by accident? 

His heart is pounding so fast that he is deafened by the blood rushing past his ears. Instinctively, he focuses on his Captain in order to calm down. It is confusing, because the warm pleasure of Wesker’s touch has developed a bite to it, though much milder than the burning, stinging pain that comes with Wesker’s anger. Why is Wesker happy, but also upset at the same time? Didn’t he answer the question like Wesker wanted? He swallows down a whimper, trying to focus on the warmth instead of the sting. He can’t afford to do something that will land him in deeper trouble.

“We’ll save the rest for you to eat later.” Wesker sets the plate aside. “You answered truthfully. You will never be punished for that.” 

He is too shocked to do more than listen and let himself be touched. The warmth hasn’t completely lost its bite, though the bite is fading away. 

“Nevertheless, don’t get too complacent. You will be facing the mercenaries soon.”

“I won’t disappoint you...” he mutters. He has to get the knife. It is his last link to the time when things were good…

The warmth returns full-force, leaving him quivering and lax like he is in a hot sauna. The simplest caress is enough to make his skin tingle with pleasure. Barely able to think straight, he seeks out his Captain’s hand, making sure to stay in contact with it at all times. The hand slowly drifts down from his head to rub the back of his neck, just above the collar. He is all but purring in contentment as his Captain continues to stroke and examine him all over. 

“Go to the bed and lie down.”

The command snaps him out of the blissful haze clouding his mind. He immediately becomes worried. Is Wesker starting to figure out why he is responding to the touches? Should he hold back his reactions? But if he does, Wesker will see right through any attempt at deception. He can’t go back to the pain and punishments, not without losing more of his sanity. 

His hesitation brings the sting back to Wesker’s touch, causing him to squirm in discomfort. 

“I...but....” he stutters, struggling to continue his train of thought.

Wesker stops touching him entirely, distracting him even more from coming up with a good enough answer. Starting to panic, he scrambles to the bed. He didn’t mean to lie. Lies get caught, then punishment will follow. He has never been a good liar. The last time he tried was when he hid what Clay did to him. Not only did his pathetic lie fail to convince Wesker, it backfired and led to him being drugged and punished until the whole ugly truth came out. 

“I didn’t mean to...” he begs, grasping desperately at Wesker’s hands in hopes of some comfort. When the touches return, he clutches at Wesker’s shirt, as if that will stop Wesker from leaving. Everything is a mess. He was doing better before, but now….

**Were you really that much better? You kept forgetting so many things.**

“There is enough bedding to keep you warm and comfortable.” Wesker stands up, looming over him. He wants to beg, but finds all his excuses stuck. “You have a big day tomorrow, so you need to rest.” 

He is shocked that Wesker is leaving without using him. His mind races with the possibilities. Is this a test to see how proactive he is, or has Wesker lost interest? He wants to reach for Wesker’s belt, but his arms feel leaden. 

“You...don’t want me to...?”

The warmth takes on a strange feeling, like a dry heat. It doesn’t hurt, but doesn’t feel good either. 

“Sleep, Chris. You need to focus on your goal. You do not want to fail me.”

**See? Nobody wants you.**

He watches helplessly as Wesker leaves. The quiet ringing of Wesker’s presence gets farther and farther away until it falls quiet. 

**How quickly he grows tired of you. All you had to do was give in. Now that he is looking for someone new to play with, throwing you away would barely be a hassle for him.**

“No… Not true...” he tries to deny, though the words are empty. He burrows under the blankets in misery, unable to shake the feeling of being abandoned and unwanted yet again. This is worse than being beaten, which would at least give him something to focus on, but being left alone… He has to win against the mercenaries… He has to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lullite is such a great beta. Also, if you haven't, check out the side-story "Five Suns", which should be updating soon to cover chapter 2. Chris' final challenge happens next chapter :D


End file.
